Behind the Curtain
by angerwasallihad
Summary: A series of enhanced and revisited Mother!ship scenes, told from Sharon's perspective. Stand alone, but compatible with previous similarly themed one-shots. Grouping together all season 3 episode tags here.
1. Enabling

**Disclaimer: Not even remotely mine. I promise to put my toys back where I found them when I'm finished.**

**Remember a couple of weeks ago when I said I was finished with these episode tags? I lied. But honestly, who could resist THAT SCENE?! Okay, okay. So here we are. I've already seen a few episode tags for this one, but I am confident that mine is a little different. I'm going to put everything I decide to write in one story, but they will still all stand alone. So here we go. **

Behind the Curtain

3x02: "Enabling"

"Wrong idea? About what?"

Sharon's voice was light, completely without heat or accusation. But she was worried. The anxiety that had started when she had come home to an unexpectedly empty apartment last week had never really stopped. Rusty had been vague when they discussed it, visibly uncomfortable when she had tried to give him an opening without pushing him, and now there was this business with Provenza. In the intervening week since she had begun to understand that something was going on, her head had gone from moderate anxiety—_had he maybe met someone? _To the prickling of fear—_was he spending time with someone or somewhere he shouldn__'__t? _And finally, to all-out terror—_death threats, the flash of a knife, the gun cold and heavy in her hand_— Sharon took a deep breath, pushing those last images back into the dark corners of her mind. She was overreacting. But whatever it was, it didn't bode well.

The number of conflicting emotions running through her head in the split second it took for Provenza and Rusty to respond to her sudden appearance took Sharon by surprise. It took all her finely honed skills to keep her expression open and neutral.

Provenza looked supremely uncomfortable, which only served to increase Sharon's anxiety. "Captain, for what you are about to hear, I apologize."

Sharon's heart sank. This was looking less and less like it could conceivably be even remotely alright. She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way at Rusty. He looked as uncomfortable as Provenza. Was she really that intimidating? Sharon had thought they were past all that unfortunate failure to communicate that had plagued their relationship for so long.

She inhaled deeply and waited.

"Um. My Mom is here. Well, at a rehab, in Long Beach."

Of all the things Sharon had expected, it was _not _that. Her face fell for a moment as she took in what he was saying. Her face had morphed into an expression of deep concern. Was he alright with all of this? Suddenly his recent behavior made complete sense. Her immediate concern for him was real, but at the same time, there was a small voice in the back of her mind whispering, _is this it, then? The day he slowly drifts away, consumed again by his mother__'__s addiction? _

"And, I didn't tell you about it, and I should have, and I'm sorry."

Sharon looked away from him for a moment, taking everything in, trying to get over her initial shock and reign in the storm raging behind her expression.

"But Sharon—"

She took another deep breath and looked back up at Rusty, interrupting his rambling and grasping at that one glimmer of hope. "Your mother is in rehab." She spoke with her usual calm, adopting the most supportive demeanor she could muster, banishing those doubtful whispers in her head, holding tight to the thought that maybe this time…

"And you have gone to see her there?" She spoke slowly, doing her best to keep the conversation open and completely comfortable for Rusty. Well, as comfortable as such an awkward conversation could be.

"A couple times."

Sharon's eyes widened. _A couple of times?_ How often was he going places without telling her? And what sort of shape was his mother in? Was it really a good idea for him to be seeing her unsupervised? Her mind began going in a thousand different directions, all of them laced with concern over this entire situation and even some fear and guilt at how easy it seemed to be for Rusty to keep things from her. Her eyes only betrayed the fear and anxiety for a moment however, her face quickly reverting to what she hoped was an open and understanding expression.

"B-but listen, listen. She, she wants to make amends to people. Me, you, everyone really. As a part of her recovery…"

Sharon looked away from Rusty again, this time meeting Lieutenant Provenza's eyes. She wasn't sure what exactly she was looking for from him. Reassurance? Guidance? Some sort of answer? As much as Sharon hated to admit it, she didn't have the answer here. And she hated not having the answer. It was terrifying, being thrown into this situation without a set of rules with clear rights and wrongs. But that was one of those things that made all this worth it, she reminded herself. Discovering the answers to those questions that weren't all black and white.

The Lieutenant shrugged uncertainly and Sharon looked back at Rusty as he continued to speak.

"And if you don't mind, Lieutenant Provenza and I could go, and we could pick her up right now and bring her here, and she could apologize, just to get that over and out of the way."

Sharon blinked at his words. Here? Today? She wasn't sure that was really the best idea. She brought a hand up to her forehead for a moment, a sure sign of the stress and emotional uncertainty she was feeling.

"It'll only take a few minutes. But, um, I completely understand if you don't want to."

She could tell by the way he was speaking that this was really important to him. And it was important, she knew, for Rusty's mother to work the steps. However Sharon felt about the woman, Rusty loved her and Sharon knew that he at least deserved her support and understanding in this. And of course, she did want to meet this Other Sharon. She just wished she might have had a little more warning…

"It's not a problem at all." She smiled at him in the most genuine way she could. "I'm, uh, I am very surprised, of course," she shot the Lieutenant a look that made it clear that he was not off the hook yet. Now that she had gotten over her initial shock a bit, she couldn't hide her displeasure at being kept out of the loop on something this important. "But," she smiled back at Rusty with a brave attempt at real joy. "I am looking forward to meeting the other Sharon in your life. And I'm glad that she's in rehab, Rusty." She looked at him in reassurance again, reminding herself with those last words that this _was_ a good thing.

Rusty looked back at her, seeming a little surprised and uncertain at her reaction. "So… so bring her? Now?"

Sharon nodded slowly, a glimmer of uncertainty flashing across her eyes. "If you can, that would be good."

The condo was dark when she finally opened the door that night. Sharon had had to stay longer than anticipated. She wished she could have gotten away sooner after all the excitement with Sharon Beck and Rusty, but it had just been impossible. It was already 9:30 pm and she was starving. All they'd had in the Murder Room that night was pizza, and however much Rusty and the rest of the squad enjoyed it, it just didn't quite do it for her.

She stepped out of her shoes the moment she crossed the threshold and dropped her keys and bag heavily on the side table, walking barefoot into the apartment, turning on a few lamps as she made her way to the kitchen. With a little smile of surprise, she immediately saw an as-yet empty wine glass next to a foil-covered plate waiting for her on the stove. There was a short note in untidy handwriting next to the plate.

_Goodnight Sharon._

_Thank you. _

_There's some strawberries in the fridge and I got you some peanut butter on the way home._

_-R_

Sharon set the note aside, laughing softly to herself. That strange combination of sweet and salty was quickly becoming almost an inside joke between the two of them, a guilty pleasure which she finally had someone with whom to share it. She peeled back the foil to see what Rusty had left her and grinned. An omelette. Just the way she liked it, with spinach and mushrooms and cheese and the tiniest bit of bacon. That was definitely better than pizza.

Sharon popped the plate in the microwave for a few seconds, pouring herself a glass of white wine from the fridge while she waited, then taking everything to the bar and eating in silence. She was feeling a little troubled by how guilty Rusty seemed to be feeling. She would, of course, have liked a little more warning about this recent situation. However, she sensed that there was more to it than simple guilt. As complicated as it felt for her, she knew it was infinitely more difficult for Rusty. She hoped that he might feel comfortable discussing it with her soon.

By the time Sharon had finished dinner and indulged in a little bit of strawberries and peanut butter as Rusty had suggested, it was late, after 10 pm. As she turned off the lights and headed back to her room, she saw that the light was still on in Rusty's room across the hall. She stood in front of the door for a moment, still barefoot. She raised her fist to knock softly, then immediately lowered it before it touched the door. She shifted from foot to foot for a moment, then leaned her head against the wood before her, listening carefully and savoring the quiet after her chaotic day. She heard a small rustle of movement behind the door, then the thin strip of light on the hall floor at her feet disappeared. She stepped back from the door. Her hand came up once more and she reached out to bring her fingertips softly against the wood. Her fingers met the door, lingering for just a moment. Then she turned away, back to her own bedroom, her hand trailing behind her.

"How was the ride home yesterday with your Mother?"

Sharon spoke with as much nonchalance as she could manage, determinedly looking down at the paperwork in front of her but not really seeing it.

"It was fine, I guess."

Sharon glanced up in surprise. His tone didn't suggest he was shutting her down, which was unexpected, but a completely welcome surprise. "Good," she said softly, nodding. She still wasn't looking directly at him for fear of scaring away this new openness.

"I dunno, I mean I was upset…but I didn't tell her."

Sharon smiled tightly, beating down her own feelings about this woman proven herself nearly as incapable of parenting as that dreadful Daniel Dunn. But she was waiting, just as she had with Rusty's father. Because this was about Rusty and what he needed. Not her desire to give Sharon Beck her just desserts.

"Why not?" Her tone was still light as she made to continue with her paperwork.

"Just so you know, I definitely want to be there for her, if she's going to stop using drugs."

Sharon listened carefully as he spoke. There was always a part of her that fervently wished he'd never had to suffer through all the physical and emotional trauma he had experienced so early in life. That he'd never had to learn to drive with his mother shooting up in the back seat, getting beaten up weekly by that sorry excuse for a human being with whom Sharon Beck insisted on associating, being abandoned at a zoo and forced to improvise in order to survive. And now, after all that and the death threats and the violence of just a few months ago, he deserved something quiet, easy. Not this.

"But…but I don't wanna be, um," Rusty finally came around the table to look at Sharon as he spoke. "Dr. Joe would say—do you know what enabling means?"

"_Ricky, what are you doing after school today?" _

_Sharon called up the stairs to him from the laundry room in the basement, pulling down Beth's leotard and tights from where they were hanging over the washing machine, folding them carefully and placing them in her daughter's bag with her shoes and hair things. _

"_I dunno, Mom" Ricky's voice floated down to her from the kitchen. "Can't I just come home?" _

_Sharon trudged up the stairs with Beth's ballet bag in hand, finding her older child perched on a stool in the kitchen, skinny legs dangling as he ate some cereal. "No, honey," she sighed. "You're not old enough to be here by yourself. You know that." _

_Ricky puffed out his chest indignantly. "I'm nine! I'm not that little!" _

_Sharon chuckled a little and reached out to ruffle his hair. "It's little enough." She put the ballet bag on the counter and reached for her abandoned cup of tea. "You know the drill. You can come with your sister and me to ballet, or you can go over to Mrs. Livingston's down the street. Your choice." _

_Ricky looked down at his cereal morosely and sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll go to Mrs. L's. Better than all those girls in pink. yuck!" _

_Sharon smiled over her teacup at him. "You come right out after school, and she'll pick you up." She put down her cup and looked around. "Now where is your sister? It's almost time to go." _

_Ricky shrugged. _

_Sighing, Sharon went out into the hall and called up the stairs, "Beth! Let's go!" There was a loud thump, then a scuffle as her daughter came flying down the stairs. _

"_Mommy, did you clean my leotard?" _

"_It's in here, honey. Sit down and eat for a second." She lead her daughter into the kitchen, briefly stopping to help her climb onto a stool next to her brother. Sharon pulled a hairbrush out of the bag on the counter beside them and began pulling back her younger child's hair as Beth ate. _

_When she finished Beth's hair and the kids seemed to have finished breakfast, she gathered their bowls and put them in the sink. "Alright, everybody. Let's go." They made it across the room to the back door, Beth chattering away, Ricky resolutely ignoring her, and Sharon trying to hold onto everything at once. When they reached the door, she shifted her bag, still hot mug of tea and Beth's dance bag all onto her left arm and pulled open the door. _

"_Daddy!" _

_Sharon heard Beth's excited shriek before she saw the cause, then stopped dead. Jack was standing just outside the door, looking shocked to see the flurry of activity that had just tumbled out of it. Beth had thrown her tiny body at his legs, clutching them tightly. _

"_Hi there, princess," Jack looked down at his daughter hugging him tightly and carefully extricated her, patting her quickly on the head. "What's all this? Going somewhere?" He pointedly avoided Sharon's eyes, addressing his daughter. _

"_School, Dad. Duh." Ricky pushed past his father and his sister to the car, not looking at Jack. _

"_Oh. Right. Well, see you later then." Jack laughed a little uncomfortably and finally looked over at Sharon. _

_She was over her initial shock now, but just walked past him without a word, arms still full. "Come on, Beth. We've got to get to school. You can see your father later. I'm sure he'll still be here when you get home." She turned back to Jack still standing at the back door behind her and shot him a look that clearly communicated the sort of trouble he would be in if he made her a liar. Then she dumped the contents of her arms into the passenger seat, checked to make sure both the children were safely buckled, and rounded the car. She got in and pulled away without a word to Jack. _

_It was dark when she got home that night. Beth had fallen asleep in the back and Ricky was staring quietly out the window as they pulled into the drive. Jack's car was still there. "Ricky," she said slowly as she turned off the car and turned back to look at him in the back seat, "it's late. So I want you to go straight upstairs with your sister and start getting ready for bed. No arguments." Ricky opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but closed it at her last words and quietly got out of the car. _

_Sharon got out too, pulling her purse over her shoulder as she went. She opened the back door and reached over her still sleeping daughter to unbuckle her. Beth, at six years old was too big now for Sharon to carry all the way to the house, so she gently woke her and half dragged the yawning child back into the house. When they reached the kitchen, Ricky took Beth's hand and lead her down the hall to the stairs. "I'll be up there in a minute, okay?" she called softly after them. _

_There was movement in the corner of her eye and she saw Jack enter the kitchen from the living room, avoiding his children in the hall. Sharon sighed heavily and turned toward him, lifting her bag onto the counter and removing her gun. She dismantled it as they stood in silence, dumping the rounds from her revolver into a drawer and replacing the weapon in the bottom of her purse. She leaned heavily on the surface before her, head bowed. _

_Finally, she whispered, "What are you doing here, Jack?" _

_There was silence for a time. Then—_

"_Well I was in town. Thought I'd come by." _

_Sharon straightened, looking him in the eyes again. He had crossed the room now, and stood just a few feet from her, giving her that signature lopsided grin. _

"_You've been gone for over a year." She spoke slowly, in a soft and measured tone. "You don't call, you don't write. What do you want?"_

_Jack's smile finally faltered at her tone. "Well, things aren't going so well. And I thought maybe I could stay here for a couple of days while I figure things out." To his credit, he looked uncomfortable. _

_Sharon considered him for a moment. He did look a little worse for wear. His shirt didn't look clean and there were new lines on his face. "Are you drinking, Jack?" _

_His head snapped up. "No. I swear, Sharon. Not for a year, since you got me into rehab." _

_She relaxed a little. "Alright. You may stay on the fold-out for a few days, Jack. But no more than four days." _

_Jack's face broke into a smile. "Aww thanks, Sharon. But the couch? Really?"_

_Sharon looked at him. "No. Don't even start." She glanced up at the ceiling instinctively. "I need to go put Ricky and Beth to bed. This discussion is not over." _

_She moved away, down the hall to the stairs. When she reached the top of the stairs, she could see Ricky helping Beth brush her teeth in the bathroom down the hall, both in their pajamas already. She came up behind them at the sink and smiled at them in the mirror. _

_They both turned to her and showed her their newly clean teeth. "Very nice. Now off to bed, both of you." She guided them down the hall into their respective bedrooms. _

_Twenty minutes later, she finally made it back down to deal with Jack. _

"_Alright, Jack. Let's hear it." They were in the living room now, sitting across from each other around the coffee table. "What's the problem?" _

_Jack grimaced a little, but finally began to speak. "Things haven't been so good, Shar. I had a couple cases go downhill and made a bad investment." _

_Sharon sighed. She'd known it was money from the moment she'd seen him this morning, but still hadn't quite decided what to do about it. Jack had appeared unannounced on her doorstep exactly twice before in the two and a half years since she'd put in the paperwork for legal separation. The first time he'd appeared it had been in anger and frustration at the legal measures she had taken against him. The second, he'd been drunk and completely irrational. That time she'd forced him across town to a rehab facility which she had paid for. It seemed to have worked. And yet here he was again. _

_She regarded him carefully again as he continued to ramble on about just needing to pay off some debt and then he'd be in the clear. She wasn't listening very attentively. As Sharon saw it, she had two options. She could cut him off and probably never see him again, or she could give him a helping hand and at least know where he was for a short time. The former was appealing. But then she remembered that look of pure joy on her daughter's face when Jack had appeared that morning. If she cut him off, she'd never see him again. She was almost sure of that. And she just couldn't live with that. _

_She stood up now as Jack finally trailed off, walking to the desk in the corner of the room and pulling out her checkbook. "How much, Jack?" She didn't look at him as she sat down and removed a pen from the drawer. _

"_Fifty-two hundred."_

_Sharon finally looked back up at him in shock. "Jack." _

_He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. He just shrugged sheepishly. "I told you, Shar. Things have been bad lately." _

_She picked up the pen and began writing the check. "I'll give you the money, Jack. But I need something from you." She tore out the check and walked back over to him. He reached out to take it, but she didn't let go. "Beth has a ballet recital on Saturday. You will be there. And," she thought for a moment. "A working phone number and address." _

_Jack blinked at her in surprise, then nodded. She let go. _

"Oh, yeah." Sharon smiled. There was a time when she had been the Queen Enabler. She pushed the memory back and focused on Rusty again.

"Yeah. Yeah, she never would have told me that she was sentenced to rehab if you hadn't asked. And I'm definitely never living with her again. Or being her, like, babysitter, if that's what she's planning."

Sharon nodded, but remained silent. This was one of those times, she knew, when Rusty just needed her to listen. The fact that he was talking about it mostly unprompted didn't escape her. There was a time when her asking him casually about his mother would have made him lash out. But now he was just standing there, telling her how he felt. So she kept her mouth shut. There were so many things she wanted to say, but knew they weren't helpful or even remotely what Rusty wanted to hear. And honestly, from what Rusty was saying, it didn't seem like she needed to say anything.

"And, she asked me if I wanted to go and visit her again this weekend."

Sharon turned to him at those words, abandoning all pretense with the papers before her. "And you don't want to go?" Her tone was still even and casual, letting Rusty steer the conversation. The last thing she wanted to do was let on any of the less-than-positive feelings she had for Sharon Beck, particularly to Rusty. She was treading carefully.

"I mean, I do…" Rusty came back around the table to face her. "But how do I have a relationship with her where she can't make her using or not using about me, anyway?"

She nodded thoughtfully. He was asking her about this. Rusty was bringing her into this situation willfully, including her in his thought process. Which meant she could be involved, right? Well, she had become involved the moment Sharon Beck had come into the office yesterday. Even before that. And Rusty was asking, so that had to mean she was being invited into this situation, Sharon reasoned. It wasn't pushing him one way or another if he was asking.

"Well, I could go with you."

Rusty's eyes snapped back to hers, and she was touched to see that flash of hope in his face, quickly replaced by disbelief.

"No." He shook his head adamantly. "No, you don't wanna do that."

"I think I _do.__" _Sharon countered his disbelief with equally adamant words.

"Really?" Rusty still didn't look convinced.

"Really. I would like to make my own evaluation. Maybe I can help steer the conversation in the right direction." She looked at him hopefully. She really would rather be supervising these visits now that she knew what was going on. She had an obligation to make sure this other Sharon was in a good place. And Rusty had asked for her opinion. Honestly, it seemed like a solution that would make them both feel a little better, even with the initial awkwardness.

"Sharon, that—that would be great," he relented. "But… I don't want to put you out." Rusty still looked a little unsure. "I mean, any more than I have over the last two years."

Sharon sighed. That again. It was almost painful to her how Rusty never seemed to be able to comprehend that he didn't owe everyone for anything he received. The thought that he had lived in a world where everything came with a price was like a knife to the gut each time the issue came up.

"I already don't know how I'm going to pay you back for everything."

"Rusty, I've told you a hundred times…"

Rusty cut her off. "I know, I know. Graduate and go to college. But Sharon, there has got to be something in all of this for you, too."

Sharon smiled a little tearfully. Images flashed before her eyes now. Rusty, making her breakfast after she'd pulled an all-nighter in the Murder Room. That look on his face the first time he'd told her he loved her. The way he'd smiled in triumph when she'd seen him win that chess tournament a few months ago. The warm feeling in her chest when she saw him smile at her from across the room.

"There is."

**Yeah, I cut out the last couple of lines of that scene, but that's just how I roll. For those curious about things: the strawberries and peanut butter thing originated in my one shot from a while ago called "Comfort." Go check it out if you want a full explanation. The second thing is the revolver that Sharon carries in the flashback may be confusing; I envision that flash happening in the late 80s, when police still carried revolvers rather than the more modern service weapon we see her with today (I may be from Texas but I know absolutely nothing about guns, and had to do some last-minute asking around). For those disappointed that this isn't an update to The Ties That Bind, do not fear! More is coming! As always, reviews are fantabulous.**


	2. Bullet

**Clearly, I won't be doing these for every episode. But I felt inspired this week. And wow, that was brutal, huh? Well read on, my lovelies. Let the angst begin.**

Behind the Curtain

Part II: Bullet

3x04: Letting it Go

The Volvo was still absent when Sharon pulled into the parking garage that night. Sharon tried to keep herself from worrying too much as she looked at the empty parking space to her left. There really was nothing to worry about. It was only 6:30pm. And Rusty had said it would probably be 7 or 8 before he got his mother ready to go. There was absolutely no reason to worry. But knowing the conversation Rusty was probably having with his mother at this very moment, Sharon couldn't help but agonize and worry.

By the time she made it to the door of the condo, Sharon was mentally rehashing and second-guessing every moment of their conversation from that morning. Perhaps she should have told him immediately that the prescription was suspect and stopped suppressing her baser instincts to handle this entire Sharon Beck situation herself instead of standing back and allowing Rusty to bring her into it when he was comfortable. But no, she silently reasoned as she turned the key in the door and entered the apartment, it was absolutely imperative that he be completely in control of this situation. Maybe she should have insisted on accompanying him tonight. Sharon stepped out of her shoes and hung her purse just inside the door. That probably would have been a mistake as well, she thought. She had done everything right, everything she really could do; but there was still that permeating desire to save Rusty from any more bad things that weighed heavily on her mind.

Shrugging off her jacket, Sharon walked barefoot across the room toward the kitchen, illuminating the room as she went. She poured herself a glass of wine when she reached the kitchen. Leaning over the counter before her, her hair fell in thick waves in front of her face, the wineglass settled just below her chin, the bottom of the glass falling squarely between her two hands placed firmly palms-down upon the smooth surface. She took a few slow deep breaths before straightening again and bringing the wine to her lips. She felt terrible about this entire situation, but the knowledge that Rusty was even more miserable made her feel, if that was possible, worse.

Suddenly the irony and utter insensitivity of Sharon's choice in beverage hit her, and she dumped her glass in the sink. She knew she didn't have a problem, but the hypocrisy of seeking comfort in a glass of wine given the present cause of her chagrin was just beyond insensitive. She was rinsing the glass in the sink when the click of a key in the lock met her ears. Sharon looked up in surprise, placing the wineglass on the draining board and quickly wiping her hands before turning and looking around the corner toward the front door. Her body still mostly in the kitchen, Sharon saw Rusty as he walked through the door before he noticed her.

"Hey."

Rusty looked up, his eyes now meeting hers across the condo. The skin around his eyes was red and they only met hers for a fleeting moment before dropping back down to his feet.

"Hey."

He shuffled over to the couch and tossed his bag carelessly on a chair beside him as Sharon watched. She automatically opened her mouth to give her usual gentle reminder about not throwing his bag around, but immediately closed it at the dejected look on his face.

"You're home early. I was just about to order a pizza. How's that sound?"

Rusty's head snapped up and turned back to her in the kitchen, suspicion written across his face. "You were _not_ about to order a pizza, Sharon. You're feeling sorry for the foster kid and his utterly screwed up situation, so you're throwing him a bone and acting all casual about it."

Sharon closed her mouth, frowning, then opened it again. "I was—"

Rusty sighed. "It's sorta your M-O, Sharon. But it's cool. I'll get us a pizza." He pulled his bag back towards himself on the couch, removing his phone and some schoolwork.

Sharon chuckled a little to herself as she watched Rusty dial the number on his phone and order their usual pizza (half pepperoni, half veggie and feta cheese). She was still considering the back of his head fondly from her place in the kitchen when he hung up the phone. She saw him drop it onto the couch beside him before he seemed to curl in on himself, the back of his head disappearing behind the cushions as he sank into the couch, seeming to make himself as small as possible.

Moving quietly and deliberately, Sharon moved away from the kitchen and around the couch to sit in a chair across from Rusty, who was now sitting with his knees pulled under his chin and his face hidden behind them.

"You know Rusty, you're not just some foster kid to me." She reached up and pulled off her glasses, hooking them on the collar of her blouse and bringing both hands to rest on her crossed legs. "And I really was going to order a pizza."

Rusty's face emerged from behind his hands and knees. He shot her a look of disbelief and opened his mouth in protest.

Sharon held up her hands in mock surrender at his look and cut him off before he could speak. "Well maybe not." Her voice was light, soft. "But I was serious about you." Rusty looked away, finally lowering his legs, bringing his feet back to the floor without a word. Sharon looked up at the ceiling briefly. "I guess it didn't go so well with your mother tonight." She chose her words very deliberately, careful not to push or lead him somewhere Rusty wasn't yet comfortable.

Nodding into his lap, Rusty remained silent. Sharon saw a lone tear roll down his face.

She had always taken such pride in protecting Beth and Ricky from their alcoholic parent. Jack had never shown up drunk to a public family event. He had occasionally been dangerous, yes. But Sharon had always been careful, and he had never been a danger to her children. Her children had never had to pick up their drunken father. Even when he traded in the bottle for gambling and lost the beginnings of their college funds, her children had never suffered or had to deal with any of the consequences of Jack's actions. Sharon had made sure of that.

Beth and Ricky had suffered from his absence. She knew that. When Jack had unexpectedly turned up at Beth's recital, drunk out of his mind, Sharon had blocked him from entering, hoping Beth hadn't seen him yet. Ricky had never known when Jack had thrown up all over his favorite shoes in the hall the night Jack had shown up on their doorstep in his usual inebriated state at three in the morning. Sharon had let him sleep it of on the couch and stayed up most of the night scrubbing Ricky's shoes clean. After Jack drained their college funds a few years later, Sharon had never let on to her children. Sharon was their buffer, every moment of every day since she'd realized that her husband had been replaced by this angry broken man ruled by his addiction. Ricky and Beth had never bailed him out of jail. Never spotted him cash they couldn't really afford to part with but knew they'd never get back. Never opened their wallet to discover that their father had stolen from them.

Instead they had suffered absence.

Sharon had made the decision that an absent father was better than a thieving, drunken, dangerous one a long time ago. She had barred the door when he appeared inebriated. She had blocked him from her children's view when he was unfit. Stood in front of them and handled whatever catastrophe he needed out of this time. Made it inescapably clear that his children were off-limits where his addiction and finances were concerned. Sometimes she wondered if it had been the right choice. She'd always held onto a glimmer of hope that someday he would be the father they deserved. But the question still nagged at her some nights before falling asleep. Was a distant, absent father better than a bad one?

Looking down at the defeated, broken young man before her, Sharon knew the answer.

She'd been fighting the urge to jump in front of this bullet sailing toward Rusty for weeks now, since before she even knew what the bullet was. She'd held back and let him come to her. She'd sat back and watched, calling out directions and advice as Rusty tried to catch the ball of hot metal in his bare hand.

But considering the teenager before her now in his forlorn and disconsolate state, Sharon realized she had been wrong. The bullet wasn't sailing towards him. It wasn't even airborne. It was embedded in his back. And she hadn't even known him when it was fired. Skin and muscle had grown over it, cushioned it, hidden it. Until Sharon Beck's arrival, like a magnet, had caused it to rise to the surface. For weeks, Sharon had been calling out advice and gentle instruction on how to catch the bullet, when really he needed to know how to cut one out.

Somehow, jumping in front of a bullet was easier than digging it out.

"She said a lot of things."

Rusty's voice was quiet, hoarse, as he continued to stare down at the couch.

"That it was my fault."

Sharon closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She had expected that. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

"That, like, she couldn't stay sober because I'm not—well, normal."

Her eyes snapped open at that, breathing in sharply and opening her mouth to speak. But Rusty stopped her before she had even formed the words.

"No, wait. Don't say anything yet, Sharon."

Finally Rusty looked up at her, his glistening eyes meeting hers across from him.

"I need to say something. And before I say it, I just need you to know that like, I know how bad it sounds. But I need to say it and for you not to hate me, Sharon. I just really need you not to be mad. Okay?" His fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, fidgeting anxiously.

Sharon extended a hand, slowly, cautiously, until it finally came to rest on top of Rusty's fidgeting fingers, stilling them gently. "I could never hate you, Rusty. You know that." Her own eyes had filled with tears now too, but she didn't look away from him. She held his gaze steadily, waiting.

"It's just, like, when I was driving home today, after she said all those terrible things…" He leaned back against the cushions, looking up at the ceiling as Sharon withdrew her hand and he continued quietly. "I sort of wished that maybe you didn't love me like you do. Because maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much that she doesn't know how to love me. Like maybe if I didn't have you, I wouldn't know what I was missing." He paused and was quiet, looking down at his hands.

When Sharon was sure he was finished, she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, shifting her weight onto her elbows resting on her knees.

"Hey." She reached back over and brushed her fingers lightly over his knee. "Give me your eyes." His face slowly rose to her eye-level again. "You," she whispered urgently, "are normal. You are just right. And I wouldn't change a thing about you." She let her hand rest gently on his knee. "I know that this hurts right now. It hurts you in your very soul. But I also think that someday—probably not today—but someday, you'll be able to understand the way your mother loves you. Because she does love you, Rusty."

He nodded slowly, and Sharon started to lean back again in her chair, finally moving her hand from his knee. But before her hand could return to her side, Rusty caught it in his own, holding her fingers tightly in his palm. She looked up at him quickly in surprise and smiled reassuringly. Something wordless passed between them in that moment. Some intangible connection. Sharon squeezed his hand briefly, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb softly, their joined hands falling casually into the empty space between them.

It might have been minutes, or just a few seconds later when Rusty released her hand, mumbling something about homework.

Sharon and Rusty had spent most of the evening in companionable silence. He knew she had a report to file now that the case was officially over and left her mostly alone. She was thankful, but to a certain extent his silence worried her. Even though she thought she had gotten through to him during their conversation the previous night, there was still something nagging at him. She could tell. And the words his mother had spoken to him last night, at least what Sharon had surmised, were the sort of thing that haunted you for decades.

"_If you hadn't gotten pregnant—"_

"_What? Say it. You wouldn't be a drunk? Oh please. You were drinking before you even knew me. You were just better at hiding it."_

"_I __**told**__ you I didn't want a family. But you didn't care."_

"_Yes. I proceeded with a callous disregard for consequences, and you were what? An innocent bystander in this scenario?" _

"_No. But it was your fault. __**You **__made me this way. It was you."_

Sharon pulled herself out of the unpleasant memory with an effort, trying to focus on the report in front of her again.

But then Rusty's phone began to buzz on the table in front of him. They both looked up, Rusty's eyes finding hers for a moment. They both knew who it was. Sharon's gaze didn't falter. She'd been here. Lots. But Rusty was right. This was something he needed to handle on his own. She watched him pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

Sharon could see him steeling himself for what was to come, and Sharon marveled at how prepared he seemed. But then she remembered: he'd been here lots too. Only then he'd been a scared kid trying to take care of his mom, getting slapped around every other week with that woman in the other room getting high. Sharon consciously stopped the images flowing through her mind and tried to listen to the conversation casually. She could only hear Rusty's words and guess what was being said by his expressions and replies.

"Okay."

Tearing her eyes away from Rusty on the couch, Sharon tried to at least appear to be working on her report while still watching and listening intently.

"Yeah. I know."

Rusty's expression was still curt, his voice betraying no compassion. She could guess at what Sharon Beck was saying. She knew the whole routine by heart at this point.

"_Shar? Are you there?"_

"_What do you want, Jack?"_

"_Well—Listen Shar. I know I said some terrible things last night. It was cruel. And I didn't mean it. I love you. Always will." _

"_What do you want?"_

"_I'm in kind of a bad situation. I need you to come pick me up."_

And she'd gone, of course. She always did in the beginning.

"Wait, wait, wait. Sarah was supposed to pick you up?!" Rusty's voice had risen now, angry. "I thought Signal Hill was driving you to the half-way house. Who **is** Sarah?"

Sharon gave up all pretense at the desk now as Rusty's words confirmed her fears. Sharon Beck wasn't going to stay sober. And she was using Rusty yet again. Would it be better if she were surprised? It didn't really matter. Because she wasn't. Not really. She was watching Rusty steadily from the desk. He wasn't upset or worried as she had expected. No, he was angry.

She saw him jerkily remove the phone from his ear now and check the time. "It's eleven-thirty p.m., Mom, and the only reason I am up this late is because I'm studying and I can't help you."

Now Sharon could hear indignant cries emanating from the phone. She still couldn't make out the words, however.

Rusty was shaking his head in that way that signaled a change from anger to frustrated disbelief. Sharon knew that expression well, both on his face over the last two years, and on her own for the last twenty-five. She was once again visited by the urge to leap across the room and shield him from this latest emotional barrage. But she couldn't do that. Given his background, allowing Rusty some control over his life was one of Sharon's primary concerns. Especially since that control was actually safe and in his best interests now that no one was trying to kill him anymore. No, she couldn't jump in. She had to wait until he extended an invitation.

"You got out of rehab last night, and you are already drinking?!"

Sharon could see Rusty beginning to completely lose his cool, utter disbelief written across his face as he tried and failed several times to find the right words to respond to his mother. It reminded her of that moment when Ms. Rios had thrown that ugly word, "whore-phan" in his face all that time ago. He was struggling, just as he had then, so angry and upset and disbelieving that he couldn't quite get his tongue around the words.

Seeing this as her opportunity to leap across the room without actually doing so, to save him from this bad thing from which she would do anything to protect him, Sharon closed her computer and looked him straight in the eye calmly. His panicked face met her impassive one and he seemed to pull himself together slightly.

"It was not a little fight," Rusty said angrily into the phone, looking away from Sharon again. "It was a big, terrible bunch of lies that you told me." She saw him take a deep breath before continuing adamantly, "I am not responsible for your drinking! And I am not driving you to the half-way house. Go back to rehab and start over. Good-bye." Rusty disconnected the call and tossed the phone back onto the table, still obviously angry.

She watched him silently for a moment, torn between her sadness for Rusty and this entire situation, and her pride in the direct and admirable way he had handled Sharon Beck. There were people much older and wiser who would not have been able to stand their ground so successfully, herself included. It had taken her a long time to find a way to draw a definitive line in the sand with Jack. Finding the courage to be so honest and direct with someone you love was always difficult.

Finally Sharon opened her mouth and said the only thing she could think of. "I'm so sorry."

Rusty looked at her and replied, "That this happened, or that she'll only call back?"

Sharon was silent for a beat. She would call back. They both knew that.

"It sounds like her on the phone, I know, but it's her addiction talking, not your mom."

Rusty swallowed. "Why do I even care anymore?" he asked, and his phone began to vibrate again on the table.

She spoke deliberately, watching Rusty unwaveringly. This was the important part, she knew. "'Cause you love her. And because you don't want to give up hope that one day, she'll be well."

Rusty picked up his vibrating phone and turned it off. "But not tonight." He dropped it on the table again and glanced over at her.

Seeing that he seemed to want to say more, Sharon raised her eyebrows; an invitation.

"I heard what you said last night," he said slowly. "And just now. About loving my mom. And I know what you're saying."

Sharon nodded slowly, allowing him to continue.

"I just wish that she could love me as well as you do."

Her shoulders slumped slightly at his words, not in personal disappointment; in sympathy, in sadness for him, in bitter disappointment at his despair. She took a deep breath. "We love you in different ways, Rusty. Just like you love us each a little differently." Rusty nodded thoughtfully, and seemed ready to let the matter rest for the moment.

She smiled sadly at him from her place at the desk, then pushed herself slowly to her feet. "I'm off to bed now. You about finished?" She pointed at the notebook on the table by his phone.

Rusty got to his feet as well. "I'm not going to get any more studying in tonight."

Sharon gave him that sad little smile again and walked closer to the sofa to switch off the lamp on the table. Rusty picked up his phone and his bag from the coffee table and walked with her to the hall. She started to walk ahead of him towards her room, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She turned, and he pulled her into a hug. There were no tears this time. No adrenaline brought on by knife-wielding psychopaths. No declarations or confessions. It was quiet. Comfortable.

She pulled away first, stepping back and bringing her hands up to cradle his face for a beat, just as she had after that first emotional hug. She held his gaze for a moment, then leaned forward in an uncharacteristically instinctive move and brushed her lips across the side of his head, near his temple. Then she stepped away a little awkwardly.

"Goodnight, Rusty."

**I hope you are not too disappointed with the somewhat shorter length and the near-absence of flashbacks. I'm trying not to recycle things between this fic and The Ties That Bind, therefore fewer flashbacks so I can put all my good stuff in a fic that's actually about that relationship, among others. Anyway. Thanks for reading, reviewers get internet chocolate, and don't forget to come find me on Tumblr!**


	3. Silence

**A little shorter this week guys, mainly because this was much more difficult to write than anticipated, and partly because this is just one ginormous scene. Thanks for all the reviews and follows. Particular thanks to that lovely Guest reviewer from last week who said such lovely things about that extended metaphor. That was way outside my comfort zone, so hearing your kind words about it was incredibly validating. Thank you!**

**Behind the Curtain**

_3x05_

_Silence_

Darkness was falling outside her office window, but Sharon had hardly noticed. It might be a testament to her rigid rule-following nature that she actually found comfort in paperwork and forms at her desk in the evening. There was something really wonderful about organizing the chaos that was a murder investigation in such a way that it all made sense on paper. In fact, she might like the paper pushing part of her job even more now that she was running Major Crimes. The cases could drag on and were rarely straightforward, but the forms required were more manageable, and she was no longer trapped in that endless 72-hour reporting cycle. Forms were comforting here, manageable, and succinct. She liked that.

There was a knock on the door, and she looked up as Rusty walked in. He waved slightly in greeting, keys still in hand. Sharon straightened in her seat, looking down at her watch in surprise. Was he just getting back? He'd been gone quite some time. "Oh, are you just now finished?"

Rusty didn't answer, just closed the door behind him and tossed his bag on the chair by the door. Sharon went back to the work in front of her, doing her best to appear nonchalant and uninterested.

"How's Dr. Joe?" She spoke slowly and deliberately wasn't looking at him, giving him the option to blow her off.

"Good. Uh, great."

She could sense that he was standing directly in front of her desk now, but continued to look down at the form before her, filling it in as she waited for him to speak.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"About…?"

"That girl, who was here a few days ago, Lina?"

Sharon dropped all pretense and looked up in surprise. Sometimes she forgot that Rusty was as involved in her cases as much as the rest of her team. She wasn't always sure if that was a good or a bad thing. But clearly that case had gotten to him if he was bringing it up directly after a session with Dr. Joe.

"What happened to her? Now that her family disowned her?"

Oh. _Oh. _

"Well it's a federal case, but…Lina has agreed to be a witness against Josh Allen in his murder trial. In return for asylum and tuition to a state university."

Rusty looked visibly relieved.

"Oh. So better than it was."

Sharon looked away, thinking of the alternatives.

"But worse than it had to be." Her eyes met his again, and she continued. "You can draw a direct line," she brought up her pencil, illustrating her words, "from what Lina was hiding from her family to the murder of Mayhar Sethi. Then Lina's father found out about it anyway." She lowered her hand and shook her head, still incredulous at the senselessness of the crimes she investigated. "In the most tragic way possible." Their eyes met again as she finished.

She could see him digesting this, coming to terms with this idea that keeping secrets from those you love, refusing to be open with them, can cause more harm than good. Dropping the intense, serious, tone, Sharon added, "I'm going to be a while. Hamburgers on the way home?"

Rusty's face broke into a smile, the tension in his body disappearing. "When have I ever turned down hamburgers?"

Sharon grinned and went back to her paperwork. She sneaked a final glance at his retreating back as he nervously wandered into the murder room, closing the door behind him, and she smiled, proud at how far they'd come in just a few weeks. No more pushing him to do what needed to be done. Just sitting back and watching as he did it on his own.

Rusty was standing with his back to her window, facing the rest of her team. Sharon couldn't hear what was being said, but from her vantage point she could safely assume they were heckling Amy about a certain Lieutenant. Amy looked uncomfortable, everyone else looked gleeful, and even Rusty seemed to be joining in.

She leaned forward a little to peer more closely through the blinds and saw Provenza stop in his progress toward the door. She couldn't see Rusty's face or hear what was being said, but everyone else was turned towards him. She could tell when he finally got the words out, because everyone seemed to blink a few times, then all start speaking at once. Though she still couldn't make out what was being said. Sanchez seemed to be being chastised by Provenza, everyone else just seemed mildly confused or unsure of exactly how to react. Finally Provenza approached Rusty and spoke rather seriously for a moment. She leaned back in her chair in an effort to prevent Provenza from seeing her transparent attempt to eavesdrop. Sinking down in her seat a little, she continued to watch through the blinds. The Lieutenant stopped speaking, and suddenly everyone broke into laughter as Amy shouted something in frustration. The moment was over, and Sharon smiled to herself as she finally looked back down at the forms in front of her, going back to work in earnest this time.

Rusty's head came back around the corner a few minutes later, hunched over his phone as he walked, a strange expression on his face. Sharon automatically looked intently back down at the desk, attempting to appear immersed in her work. Rusty fell heavily into the chair in the corner. Sharon looked up at him over the top of her glasses. He was still looking down at his phone, and she gathered he didn't really want to talk yet.

"Just give me another fifteen minutes and we can go."

He didn't look up. "Okay. Umm. I think I'll just stay in here though. Until you're done." He slipped his phone into his pocket and finally brought his eyes to meet hers. "I dunno, they're all being kinda loud out there. And I don't really feel like being all social."

Sharon nodded absently, shifting her attention back to the desk. She let the silence stretch between them. They both knew why he'd rather be in here with her rather than out there with the team, but neither of them addressed it. They didn't need to.

The quiet continued, broken only by the scratch of Sharon's pencil on paper or the soft rustle as Rusty turned a page in the book he'd pulled from his bag. It wasn't strange or awkward. It was comfortable. Normal. And neither of them were conscious of it.

Eventually Sharon put down her pencil and started to pull all the paperwork in front of her together, depositing it in a drawer. She got to her feet, pulling on her jacket and swinging her purse over her shoulder.

"You ready?"

Rusty nodded and stood as well, pulling his bag onto one shoulder. They both walked over to the door leading to the murder room. Sharon held it open for him, and swept him through it in front of her.

The entire team, minus Provenza, was still assembled in the Murder room. The mood in the room was still light and jubilant, and Sharon smiled. "Everyone go on home. We can tie up any other loose ends tomorrow. Goodnight."

She turned and continued with Rusty out into the hall as a chorus of "Goodnight, Captain," and "See ya, Rusty," echoed in their wake.

Sharon and Rusty proceeded down the hall to the elevator in relative silence. When the doors slid open in front of them and the stepped onto the elevator, Sharon finally spoke. "So do you want to try somewhere new, or just the usual?"

"Well Frankie's is right on the way home. So let's just stick to the usual. We can leave the Volvo here tonight, right? I don't really feel like driving it back now."

"Sure."

The doors slid open again, and Rusty stepped through them first, leading the way across the parking garage. Sharon stepped quickly up beside him, keys in hand. "So you started a new book?" She pointed down at the book still clutched in his hand. "How's it going?"

They had reached Sharon's car now, and they both climbed in.

"It's pretty lame," Rusty replied when they had both closed their respective doors. "It's _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn._ You ever have to read it?"

Sharon turned the keys in the ignition, checking instinctively that they were both buckled before turning in her seat and looking behind them as she backed out. "Yes, actually." She turned back to face the windshield and turned the car towards the entrance. "It was about thirty-five years ago," she felt rather than heard him snicker. "Don't even think about it, young man." She pointed a finger sternly at him and continued, "It was quite some time ago, so you'll have to remind me."

Rusty was still grinning mischievously. "Well that explains a lot. I mean this book has got to be, like, older than God."

Rolling her eyes, Sharon chuckled briefly, sort of half giggle and half hum. "Not that I don't love that subtle allusion to the idea that I am God-like…" She smirked at him. "But you had better watch it, mister." She was still smiling playfully.

"Okay, okay. Anyways. So there's this girl, and she's living in Brooklyn, like in the early 1900s. And like, her family is poor because they just got here from like Europe or something. And it's basically just about her life. I mean, I get that it's probably some comment on the American Dream and like, the development of American culture and stuff. But it's really boring."

Sharon nodded, still smiling lightly as she drove. "I wouldn't write it off completely yet. You never know what might resonate with you. Books are funny that way."

They drove in relative silence for a few more minutes. Sharon was lost in thought, trying to decide if there was a tactful way to ask exactly what had happened in the Murder Room earlier with Rusty and her team. She'd done her best not to push him one way or another on this issue, just as she had with the Sharon Beck situation. She'd waited for him to work through it on his own, encouraging him once he'd independently made the decision to be open with everyone, but trying very hard not to push. But now it seemed he'd done it. Only Sharon hadn't been able to see or hear very well. And her curiosity was getting the better of her.

"Ummm Sharon?" Rusty broke the silence.

"Hmmm?"

"Do you know about The Village People?"

Sharon blinked confusedly. Where had _that_ come from?

"Yes," she said slowly, taking her eyes off the road to glance at him. "Disco-dance group. With platform shoes and feathers and leather? _Those_ Village People?"

Rusty nodded.

"Why do you ask?" She kept her eyes on the road as they talked.

"Well, like… I guess you noticed that I sorta told everyone today after I got back from Dr. Joe's." He wasn't looking at her, his eyes firmly fixed on his hands twisted in his lap.

"I did, yes."

"Right. Well, like, Lieutenant Provenza said this thing about how, you know, as long as I'm not suddenly singing and dressing like the Village people, it doesn't really matter to him. Which is cool. But like, it made me think. Sharon, am I _supposed_ to be doing those things? I mean, is that what gay people do?"

She felt his eyes come back to her face, and she shot him a quick glance as she exited the freeway. This was not the sort of conversation she wanted to have with him while she was driving and couldn't safely give him her full attention. It _was_ endlessly encouraging that he felt comfortable having this conversation with her in this enclosed space. She usually didn't have serious conversations like this while the car was moving; partly because she liked to give him her full attention, but partly because she liked having the option to walk away or to allow Rusty to walk away. But this was an important moment, and she needed to give him her undivided attention.

"Hold that thought for just a second, Rusty, okay?" She pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and unbuckled, but didn't turn off the car. She turned in her seat to face him directly.

"Rusty. There is absolutely nothing and no one who can tell you who you are _supposed _to be. Being gay isn't some personality trait. It isn't some club that people can kick you out of because they think you don't adhere to their definition of 'gay.' Who you are doesn't change because you've come to the understanding that you were made a little differently." Her hand rose of its own volition and brushed Rusty's hair across his forehead affectionately. "Have you talked to Dr. Joe about this? I think he might have a valuable perspective, you know."

Rusty blinked and shook his head. "No. And like I said, I only thought about it just now. Besides, we've been talking about other stuff lately. And I'm asking you."

Sharon's hand returned to her lap. "I see. Well like I've said before, you are still you, whatever your orientation. And it's up to you to decide what being gay means for you." She drew her fingers through her hair absently. "Now, I won't lie to you. There are going to be people who will try to tell you who you are, even define you by your orientation all your life. But the most important thing is you knowing who you are. And being okay with it. And remembering that you are loved, no matter what." Sharon stopped, watching Rusty mull this over.

He was no longer looking at her, occupied with watching his hands fiddle with the hem of his jacket. Without even thinking about it, Sharon reached over and covered his hands with one of her own, squeezing lightly and smiling.

"Okay?"

Finally, he looked at her again. "Okay."

She withdrew her hand and reached behind them for her purse, feeling a little relieved. "Great. Now what do you say we go have some dinner?"

**Reviews are one of the best parts of my week, so don't be shy! Thank you all for reading!**


	4. Fear

**Not a lot of extension of this scene, mostly because I really crawled into Sharon's head this week. There is angst, there is fluff, and there is a lot of our favorite captain with a tendency to over-think.**

Behind the Curtain

3x06: Fear

"_The era during which it was professionally useful for me to have a wedding ring on my finger is long gone." _

"_In a divorce, I would be entitled to half your savings and half your pension. Given any thought to that?" _

"_So you're ready to pay all the back child support you owe me for the family you deserted?"_

"_We were never divorced! Why do you think that I owe you?!"_

"_Would you like to experience first hand what the court thinks of child abandonment? Go for it." _

The angry words were still rattling around in the back of her mind all these hours later, hunched over her desk back at home. She'd gone for a run just before dinner, a mostly unsuccessful effort to expend all the pent-up anger and frustration still coursing through her after the day she'd had. Now, sitting before her desk and considering the photos of their yet unidentified victim, Sharon felt like leaning forward and banging her head on the desk several times.

This case was getting to her. She knew that. And it didn't take a psychiatrist or a rocket scientist to understand why. Months ago, when Rusty had elected to stay after his eighteenth birthday, she'd called up Cynthia, his caseworker and discussed her options. But not long afterwards, Sharon Beck had reappeared, so she'd carefully stowed the idea she'd had back into one of those distant corners of her mind. But when Rusty's Mother had walked out of his life yet again, she'd started the ball rolling once more. The divorce papers she'd had prepared for quite some time now. But really the reason all this was getting to her right now wasn't about the paperwork.

No, it was about the fear that prickled in her heart every time she saw Rusty walk out the door. It wasn't that cold coppery terror that she'd felt that day when she'd broken down the door to save him from Wade Weller all those months ago. It was more like the worry she'd felt for her other children when they'd first gotten behind the wheel for the first time or moved out of the house; but amped up to an almost unmanageable level. Ever since Cynthia had mentioned that Sharon no longer had any legal familial rights where Rusty was concerned, the fear had followed her around like a dark threatening storm.

Looking at the photos of this poor young girl spread out on the desk, Sharon's mind kept wandering to scenarios in which Rusty was some unidentified young victim with no family, no legal ties to anyone. Lost and unknown forever. Logically, Sharon understood that a situation like that of this Alice was highly unlikely in Rusty's case. His absence would never go unnoticed like hers seemed to have done. But Sharon loved Rusty like her other children. As a mother. And when it came to worrying about her children, that logical part of her brain was never able to prevail. Those last words she'd thrown at Jack before he'd stormed away were clearly not coincidental. Child abandonment was heavy on her heart of late. And Jack pushed those buttons like no one else.

A door shut rather noisily in the hallway and Sharon heard Rusty coming down the hall again. She looked up briefly as he passed her leaning over the photos from her standing position behind the desk, but remained mostly focussed on the photos before her until Rusty spoke.

"Jack offered me a job today."

Sharon's head snapped up. Jack had spoken to Rusty today? This did not bode well. True, Jack had done better with Rusty than he'd ever fared with Emily or Ricky, but his time with Rusty had been very limited, and his behavior today and in the past was anything but reassuring. But Jack never did anything without getting something in return. If he'd gone out of his way to spend time with Rusty today, even gone so far as to have offered him a job, he wanted something from Rusty. And she was afraid she knew what it was. Realizing that she'd been silent a bit longer than was strictly necessary, she fought to suppress any expression of her apprehension or frustration and simply smiled and said evenly, "he did?"

"Yeah." Rusty sat down on the couch, turning slightly to face her as he continued. "He walked me down the street to the law firm that he's working at, and he pretended to interview me to be his intern for a little while."

The less than sincere smile had slipped off Sharon's face as she saw that this story was going precisely where she'd feared.

"And then he started asking me a lot of questions about you."

Rusty's eyes met hers expectantly as he stopped speaking. Sharon hitched that same smile back on her face trying to laugh unconcernedly and act marginally surprised. "Ah. How so?" Her chuckle fell rather flat, however.

"Well he seemed to think you might be dating someone, which would be news to me…"

Sharon's laugh was genuine this time. "Oh, me too." Of course Jack would immediately assume that her desire to dissolve their marriage was about someone else. The idea that it was purely about Sharon and her independence would never have occurred to him. And of course, he would consider the possibility that she was seeing someone else entirely more personally than was warranted. Infidelity had not been one of the driving forces behind their separation; but the double standard Jack was sure to hold her to was not encouraging. Sharon hadn't been on a date in nearly thirty years (the occasional dinner with Andy was _not_ a date). Jack, she knew, most certainly had. But for him it wasn't about vows or fidelity or any of the rest of it. Jack might avoid her at every turn, flee from any confrontation with her and carefully maintain a façade of stoic indifference, she knew that the very idea of her even considering moving on did sting him a little.

Bringing herself back to the conversation at hand, she maintained that same smile as she asked, "What else?"

Rusty looked a little uncomfortable for the first time, and Sharon's concern grew. It wasn't the first time Jack had interrogated one of her children in an effort to get information on Sharon. Ricky was his usual target. Shortly after Sharon had drawn the line in the sand regarding their finances just after the separation, Sharon had come home one evening to find that Jack had arrived unannounced, dismissed the babysitter early, and was grilling their eight-year-old son for information on her social activities. She'd come to expect it after that. But badgering Rusty seemed different somehow, particularly given his behavior in her office earlier. And something was clearly bothering Rusty about the interaction.

"Umm. Well… It's probably just Jack, being Jack. And you say not to believe anything he says… But he made it seem like you might want to… uh, adopt me?"

Dropping all pretense of amusement, Sharon stared in surprise for a moment. Of course Jack had dropped that bombshell on Rusty to suit his own needs without any regard for the consequences on the young man in front of her. Sharon might plan more than the average person, but with Rusty, this deliberate nature was always to his benefit. A conversation about adoption with Rusty was not something you brought up casually. There was a specific way to do it that would be in his best interests. This was not it. It infuriated her to no end that Jack had once again laid waste to anyone and everyone around him in order to get what he wanted: information on what was the driving force behind her supposedly sudden change of heart. But at the same time, Sharon wasn't really surprised.

"He told you that?" Sharon's voice had dropped; it was low, serious, but not angry.

"Yeah. And that it might mean that the two of you would divorce."

Sharon's reply took on that quiet dangerous tone that could still silence a room. She hoped it was clear that her rage was not directed at him. "Oh well I am absolutely divorcing him now, no matter what." If she had doubted her decision at all before her confrontation with Jack earlier that day, that doubt had disappeared. She was sure of it. This most recent act of selfishness assured her that she'd made the right choice.

"But don't do that because of me, Sharon."

"It's not about you, Rusty. Jack has just proven, and for the very last time, that he is the most unreliable person on the earth." His inability to accept or maintain any sort of responsibility for anyone other than himself antagonized her to no end. And he'd finally pushed it too far. She had no desire to go back on her decision. If anything, she felt strengthened by it.

"Aren't I too old to be adopted? I mean, technically I'm an adult." Thankfully, Rusty didn't seem upset by the idea as he shifted the conversation to the real issue at hand.

Still holding the photographs of Alice in her hand, Sharon moved around the desk, making her way over to where Rusty sat. "Okay, well, that is part of the issue here, Rusty, is that um," she came to sit in a chair across from him, her voice no longer biting with rage directed at her husband. "Is that before, when I was your legal guardian, I had standing to make decisions for you, if you were hurt or you were sick, or you got into an accident, or—" her voice cracked slightly and she broke off and looked down at the photo of her nameless victim in her hand. "—if you went missing." Her eyes came back up to meet his, and she let the unspoken scenario, that of his untimely death, hang in the air between them, acknowledged by them both, but never vocalized.

"Oh," Rusty said awkwardly. He didn't seem to know what to say to that.

"I was your next of kin. Now, legally, I'm just your roommate." She chuckled a little at the absurdity of the word in the context of their relationship.

Rusty still looked conflicted, but surprised at the idea that this was an issue. "God, I guess I never really thought of that."

Treading carefully so as not to push him too hard, but at the same time to encourage him to warm to the idea, Sharon spoke again. "I think of you as part of my family. I worry about you the way a mother worries about her children."

He seemed to take that in for a moment, then looked mildly concerned as a thought occurred to him. "What do your other kids think about this? Because Jack—"

"I can't imagine that Ricky or Emily would object." She smiled genuinely at him now, he wrath for Jack almost forgotten. The fact that he had indirectly referred to himself as one of her children had not escaped her, and it really did encourage her beyond anything else. There was certainly a need for a serious conversation with her other children, she knew that. But if Rusty could refer to Ricky and Emily as her "other kids," then it seemed that the battle on his side was nearly won. She really didn't dream that the other two would put up a fight. The only person who seemed truly opposed to this idea was Jack. And she was taking care of that. Or at least, Gavin was.

"Sharon, I have been…working so hard to not be a problem for you anymore."

Sighing, Sharon straightened in her chair and tried not to roll her eyes as Rusty spoke. _This again. _

"And I just feel like all of this adoption business makes me a problem for you again."

Sharon always put on a reassuring face, or even sometimes a playfully exasperated one whenever he started in with all of this. But the truth was, a part of her was so deeply saddened by his need to _deserve_ her love. For so long, he had been conditioned to believe that he had to earn the good things in his life. That love wasn't freely given. That people didn't give without taking. That nothing is ever free. Maybe someday, if she reminded him of it enough and taught by example, he might come to understand that she never wanted anything from him. But not yet.

"Rusty, you're not a problem." She spoke as earnestly as she could, hoping to finally convince him. "Jack," she continued, a bite shining through her soft voice once again, "is the problem." She grinned a little playfully at him. "Let's just, um, think about this later. And we can—we can revisit this adoption idea when I have had some time to fully flesh out what this would mean. For the both of us."

Rusty seemed to consider her words and finally nodded. "Okay. But I'm still going to pay you back for everything. Someday."

Heaving another sigh Sharon reached across the gap and stroked his knee softly. "And I'm still going to say no." She set aside the pictures and leaned back, her hands returning to her lap. "So I hear you're trying to make the Louisiana Purchase sound interesting." She nodded at the notebook in his lap.

"Yeah. But there is literally nothing interesting about it. It's a big hunk of land that even today, nobody lives in."

She looked at him skeptically over her glasses.

"Okay, okay. People live there. But they're all in the middle of nowhere. You couldn't pay me enough to go hang out there."

"You know," Sharon began, a little conspiratorially, "I was pre-law. And as such, I did a lot of history in college. And I think that there are a couple of really cool things about the Louisiana Purchase that you might be missing."

Now it was Rusty's turn to look skeptical. "Um, no offense, Sharon, but your idea of interesting could put an entire student body to sleep."

Sharon pretended to look offended. "Hey now, you're the one who sat in front of a chess board for an hour straight without moving any of the pieces the other night. And you say _I__'__m_ boring."

"Whatever." He handed her the notebook. "What am I missing?"

She opened it up and looked over it for a few minutes. It really wasn't bad. Rusty was a much better writer than he gave himself credit for. Finally Sharon looked back up at him. "I'm not going to tell you how to write your paper. You know that."

Rusty smiled a little ruefully. "Okay. So what are you going to do?"

Sharon closed up the notebook and handed it back to him. "I'm just going to point out two things. What you choose to do with them is your choice." She held up a finger. "The first is just a minor suggestion. Something that might bulk up your paper a little. Take a look at Thomas Jefferson. He was more than just a president. He had some very interesting skills. Not a great advocate for minorities, but still. He could add a little texture to the paper." She held up a second finger. "Secondly, I'm going to let you in on a little secret that maybe Sister Mary Margaret forgot to mention. History isn't about dates. It isn't even about facts or events."

Rusty let out a sound of disbelief. "Ummm yes it is, Sharon."

"No," she said quietly. "It's about why the events matter. What do they teach us? Why is it important to the bigger picture?" Sharon pointed back at his notebook. "Why was the Louisiana Purchase important? What part does it play in the bigger picture?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Ummm well, it like almost doubled the size of the United States at the time?"

"Right," Sharon nodded encouragingly. "But that's just the facts. What does it mean? Why is it important?"

He was quiet for a few minutes. Finally, he looked up. "It's about that thing, right? Where like, the Americans thought it was their destiny to claim all the land in North America from one sea to the other? It's, whaddaya call it? Manifest Destiny?"

Sharon smiled. "I think that might be a very good idea to incorporate that into your paper." She yawned. It's pretty late, so I'm off to bed." She stood up and stretched. "Don't stay up too late. Goodnight."

Rusty nodded and waved vaguely in her direction, now lost in his notes. "'Night, Sharon."

She picked up the stack of photos on the table before turning from him. Sharon looked down at them once more, anticipating that wave of fear to wash over her once again. But it didn't. There was still worry and a little fear as she looked from the photos in her hand to the young man on the couch, but it was no longer debilitating. Because now he was hers. And they both finally knew it.

**Yeah, I think my history teacher was showing just a little at the end there. I do truly believe that Sharon is historically inclined, however. Most of the pre-law people I went to school with were in the history department with me. It's where all the cool people are. Anyway. Thank you all so much for reading. I really appreciate all your reviews and would always love to see more! Particular shout-out to my guest reviewers. I don't know who you are, but you all are lovely! Thank you!**


	5. Unyielding

**I'm back! And who could resist all those wonderful bits in the episode last night?! So here we are. Enjoy, and don't forget to review. Reviews are like sunshine on a cloudy day. Only so much better.**

**Behind the Curtain**

3x09: Unyielding

Slipping her shoes off the moment she came through the door, Sharon closed it as quietly as she could manage and laid her keys and purse with equal care on the side table. She glanced around the slowly lightening condo quickly. Ricky was snoring quietly on the couch; padding silently over in her bare feet, she looked down at her middle child, arms and legs flung every which way, the couch not quite long or wide enough to contain him. She smiled down at the familiar image, but there was still a prevailing reticence on her mind. From his comments the previous afternoon and evening, it was clear that Rusty was right; Ricky was not completely on board.

Turning away from the couch, Sharon slipped as quietly as she could down the hall to her bedroom, taking extra care outside Rusty's door. Ricky could sleep through an earthquake. He'd always been that way; even back when Jack would come home at all hours, shouting drunkenly into the dark house, Ricky rarely stirred.

Rusty, on the other hand, woke at the slightest creak outside his door. Sharon knew it was a sensibility born out of necessity. She tried not to think about the year he had spent sleeping in a near-constant state of alertness; but it was part of him. Lately, over the past few months in the absence of death threats and protection details, he'd started to sleep later. His head stopped immediately popping into the hall the moment she walked through the door on those nights and mornings when she returned at an ungodly hour. He'd stopped locking his bedroom door.

Sharon stopped in the hallway outside her door and looked across toward Rusty's. On instinct, she turned away from her own bedroom and slowly peeked into Rusty's room.

It was still mostly dark, the curtains blocking all but a small strip of light from the rising sun, which fell across the end of his bed. With surprise, Sharon saw that he was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. The comforter and sheets were a knotted mess on the end, a tell-tale sign of the sleepless night Rusty must have suffered. Looking into his drawn face and dejected appearance, Sharon doubted he'd gotten any more rest than she had.

There was no surprise in his eyes at her sudden appearance in his doorway; clearly, he had heard her come in minutes ago. Trying to smile lightly despite his obvious anxiety, she came fully into the room and closed the door softly behind her.

"Hey," she whispered as she stepped slowly toward the bed.

"Hey." Rusty dropped her gaze, looking down at his hands in his lap.

At the end of the bed now, Sharon pointed down at it. "Do you mind if I…?"

Rusty looked up for a moment, then back down at his hands. "Yeah. Sure."

Sharon tugged at the sheets and comforter, untangling them slightly and smoothing out a place to sit.

"Oh. Sorry." Rusty stopped scrutinizing his hands finally and scooted toward the end of the bed in an effort to help her.

But Sharon just waved him away, smiling in that reassuring way before settling on the end of the bed, legs curled up behind her. Rusty made to move back toward his earlier place at the head of the bed, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"So," she began, still whispering, "you didn't get much sleep."

"No." He crossed his legs, the angles of his knees just barely touching the side of her thigh, looking down at his hands, which had begun to fidget nervously with the hem of his shirt.

Sharon looked on thoughtfully. He was curling in on himself. The way he used to sit and sleep back in those early days when she'd been trying to get him off the couch and into this room. It was protective, closed off. Just a week ago she'd woken in the early hours of the morning to find that they had fallen asleep in front of a movie again. She'd slept comfortably curled into the corner of the couch while Rusty had somehow ended up stretched along the length of the cushions, ankles and feet slightly tangled in her own. Now, this return to the confined, protective resting position spoke volumes to Sharon.

"You are right."

Rusty's head popped up in surprise at her words, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Sharon held up a hand to silence him.

"But I am right too." She lowered her hand back down to his forearm, a soft and reassuring touch. "Ricky is not exactly on the same page as we are."

Seeing him on the verge of speaking again, Sharon squeezed his arm briefly as she continued. "_But_." She looked him squarely in the eyes. "I will get him there. Don't worry." Finally she allowed him to speak.

"But maybe—No, listen, Sharon—maybe we should just wait a little while."

Sharon watched his hands begin to twist more anxiously in his lap, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, gently, she covered his fidgeting hands with her own, stilling them.

"Honey, if you aren't sure—"

She felt him tense suddenly at the words, and she pulled her hands back into her own lap.

"No! God—No, Sharon, that's not what I meant at all." Seeming to realize how loudly he'd spoken, he relaxed again slightly, whispering, "No. I just meant that maybe we should let Ricky, like, get used to the idea or something." His eyes met hers a little fearfully. "Unless you've, like, changed your mind—"

Sharon could almost see all the fight go out of him at these words, and her face fell. Her hand went instinctively up to his cheek, touching him lightly and cautiously at first. He didn't pull away.

"I'm sure," she said softly, stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. "I've been sure for quite some time." Her hand moved from his cheek up to his forehead, brushing his hair gently away from his face unnecessarily in that characteristic gesture of affection. "If you want to wait, though, we can do that." Her hand finally dropped back into her lap. "But I'd really rather not."

Rusty looked unconvinced. "But if Ricky—"

"I am going to work all this out with Ricky," Sharon said smoothly. "I'm sure he's just feeling a little displaced and needs some attention. Which he will get this morning." She looked down at her lap this time. "But if something were to happen to you, or to me…" Her voice shook a little on the last words, and one hand came up to rub unconsciously at her own forehead, a sign of the tears threatening. She blinked several times and took a deep breath. "I just—We shouldn't put it off."

Her eyes met his once more, and he seemed much more relaxed. Slowly, Sharon swung her legs back over the edge of the bed, getting to her feet.

"Okay?" She gave him a final searching look, and he nodded.

"Okay."

She smiled. "Alright. Now you," she leaned over the bed and began tugging and untangling the bedclothes with a practiced hand, "need to get some sleep." She finally drew the sheet over his legs as he slid back toward the headboard and pulled the comforter over himself. "You and Ricky can stay here; I should be back a little early today." She patted his cushioned form on the bed, her hand coming up to quickly ruffle his hair before she moved away. She pulled the curtains at the window more completely shut before walking to the doorway and passing through it quietly. "Sleep," she whispered to the dark room as she carefully closed the door behind her.

A cup of coffee—no hope of sleep until much later made this a coffee morning—, a shower, and a change of clothes later, and Sharon could hear Ricky moving around in the living room. It seemed that Rusty might have finally fallen asleep, so she let him be and made her way out to face her other son.

"Morning, Mom."

Sharon saw he was sitting on the couch, typing away at his computer with his feet up on her coffee table. She let it pass; he seemed to be wearing clean socks, at least. She never had been able to break him of that particular habit, propping his feet up on anything and everything. At this point it seemed a little pointless to fuss. Particularly this morning, when her mission was to give him a little one-on-one attention as a form of reassurance. So she looked over it, continuing through the room and into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Darling."

She'd done this particular dance more than once with her children in the past; give one a little more Mothering and attention in an effort to offset the sort of envy and displaced feelings that often occurred between siblings. The loving endearment, the bright and happy demeanor, it was all part of her plan this morning. She hoped she wasn't overdoing it. It had been quite some time since she had had to go all out in this way; she'd never had to do it to this extent since Ricky and Emily had moved out. It was possible she had gotten a little—for lack of a better word—rusty in the intervening years.

"Find your shooter?"

Sharon turned back to face him for a moment at his words before she reached the kitchen, hoping to give the impression that he had her full attention.

"Our sniper, yes. It turned out, he was the son of an army ranger. His mother committed suicide." Ricky's eyes finally met hers for a moment as she spoke before he turned back to his computer. Sharon spun back to the kitchen when he dropped her gaze, continuing, "He's a very troubled young man." She dropped her empty mug into the sink and was in the process of moving toward the refrigerator to retrieve a yoghurt when Ricky's next words stopped her.

"Hm. You're not gonna be adopting him too, are you?"

And there it was.

Sharon had allowed the earlier comments, the quiet refusal to go to dinner with Rusty, that dig about invading his space, she'd let them pass. But not this one. She turned away from the refrigerated breakfast possibilities and started to make her way over to face Ricky, attempting to maintain that same bright and reassuring attitude as she spoke.

"Let's discuss this adoption. Because I feel your lack of enthusiasm from a great distance." She settled in the chair beside him, keeping her tone light but making it clear that they were going to get to the bottom of this. "And I'd like to know," she continued, smiling kindly, "what's that about?"

Ricky finally removed his feet from the coffee table and set his computer aside in a way that told Sharon that he was expecting and had prepared for this conversation. He had some sort of rehearsed speech coming, she could tell. And it wasn't reassuring.

"Okay. Right off the bat, I want you to know that I understand a lot of what you're going through."

Starting off with some sort of disclaimer… Sharon could tell that this did not bode well. And that Ricky at least didn't consciously think that this was about having to share her so much during his visit so far. Clearly, he thought it was something else entirely and she was going to need another approach.

"Dad was a letdown as a husband."

At these words, Sharon's eyes widened, but she held her tongue, waiting to see where he was going with this. Jack had been more than a letdown. He'd been a disaster. But Ricky didn't know about most of that. She'd made sure of it.

"Emily left for New York, to do her ballet thing, I left for Paolo Alto, I don't make it home all that often; you work all the time. It's a recipe for loneliness."

Sharon looked away for a moment, her mind working madly in the wake of this unexpected turn in the conversation, realization dawning. Ricky's mouth might be moving, but these were not his words.

"And I—Mom, I have a lot of sympathy for you on that score."

Remaining silent as he continued, Sharon looked around in shock bordering on disbelief.

"And also you are incredibly giving, and caring."

Was he psychoanalyzing her? Richard Raydor, the young man who had nearly flunked his single psychology course in college was sitting across from her, spelling out her deep psychic loneliness. It would have been hilarious if it weren't so infuriatingly condescending. And didn't have Jack's fingerprints all over it.

"But Mom, that kid, he's a- he's a hustler and he's—"

His voice rose, and Sharon made a shushing gesture, thinking of the sleepless night Rusty had suffered and all the hard work that this conversation might destroy if overheard. Ricky obeyed, lowering his voice again.

"—and a con artist. And I think that he's taking advantage of you."

Still silent, Sharon smiled a little bemusedly. It _was_ almost entertaining to see Ricky's mouth moving but only Jack's words flowing out of it. Or it would have been, if it weren't so offensive.

"…And look, you did so much for me. You were tough and honest when I needed it… And now I think I need to do the same for you. I need to…take the hit, like you did, and-and be the bad guy for a minute. And step in to say that this is _not a good idea._"

Ricky finally stopped, giving her an opportunity to respond. Struggling to maintain a civil and conversational mood, Sharon spoke.

"May I ask, have you by any chance been talking with your father about this?"

Her tone was no longer light and understanding, but it wasn't argumentative either. Predictably, her words evoked a defensive reaction from her son.

"Yeah, we talked a few times. I mean, he's worried about you. Mom, _I__'__m_ worried about you. I am!"

Listening silently, Sharon looked away from the conversation again, considering Ricky's words. This was, she supposed, the unlucky consequence of so fiercely and successfully protecting Ricky and Emily from Jack's shortcomings as a father and a human being. They had seen only what they had had to, Sharon had made sure of that. She hadn't spoken ill of him in front of them. Made excuses for him. She wasn't even sure either of them were fully aware of the deep financial hole Jack had left for her to dig out of, alone. And this was the consequence, sitting before her. A son who referred to Jack as merely a "letdown." Who spoke earnestly of how "worried" Jack was about _her_. Sharon nearly snorted at the thought. Given the most recent events, Sharon was not sure Jack even know what it was to worry about anyone but himself. But Sharon remained silent.

"…Look, helping the kid a little bit, that's great. But to make him legally your son?"

Ricky seemed at a loss for words for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I, I just think that we need to take a giant step back here and just reevaluate—"

Sharon had had enough. "Hold on, hold on." She raised a hand to silence him. "Before we go back, I should clear up a big misunderstanding that you have."

Ricky seemed taken aback for a moment. "Okay…"

The image of Rusty anxiously curled in on himself earlier that morning suddenly flashed across her mind; her assurance that she wanted him, and that this was going to happen no matter what.

"I am not asking your _permission_ to adopt Rusty. Or Emily's _permission_." Ricky looked away from her intense gaze as her voice crossed over into that dangerous tone of quiet controlled anger. "I see great things in this boy, and I mean that from the bottom of my ever-so-lonely heart." She spoke the last words coldly, laced with fury.

"Come on, Mom, you know that I did not mean loneliness as a criticism. I was only pointing out the fact that—"

But Sharon was done being polite, finished with his quiet condescension.

"It's clear what you were pointing out. Now I'm pointing out to you," she pointed sharply at him, her voice matching the gesture, "if you don't develop a little human compassion for this young man, who grew up with _none_ of the advantages you took for granted _every day of your life_," her voice rose over his open mouthed expression of indignation and disbelief, despite her earlier attempts to let Rusty sleep. She got quickly to her feet. "Then I am going to leave here wondering where I went wrong as a mother." She spun away from him angrily, walking to the door.

"Mom." Ricky got up to follow her. "Mom! Wait, wait, wait, wait."

She stopped and turned back to look up at him, towering above her.

"Hang on. Look," he started, in a tone that suggested he was shocked at her reaction, "I'm gonna have children one day. So is Emily. Do you really want your grandkids calling that boy 'Uncle Rusty'?"

Sharon was almost at a loss for words. She could barely look at him, so intense was her fury. Was he really trying to talk her out of this based on names and the hypothetical grandchildren he knew she so looked forward to? Did he really think that her stubborn nature and unyielding love could be so easily swayed?

"That is a whole lot better than what I'm thinking of calling you right now," she uttered vehemently.

"_Mom!_" Ricky shook his head incredulously at her words.

"Richard William Raydor," Sharon seethed, "you listen to me and you listen to me good." her voice shook slightly with angry tears. "You've got one chance to get this right." She was nearly shouting now, all concern for their volume forgotten in her outrage at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. "You need to _turn your attitude around_," she emphasized each word, "_RIGHT THIS MINUTE_," her voice dropped to an intense whisper on the last phrase, her being seeming unable to contain her wrath for a moment. "Because if you make Rusty feel unwelcome in this family, after all of his, and my, hard work, I will be just so—"

Sharon stopped, her anger beyond words for a moment. Images of all they'd achieved over the last two years flashed across her mind. The endless shouting matches during those first few months. Rusty's face, beaten bloody on her watch. That horrified look on his face at the word "whore-phan." The utter sadness in his voice after that last conversation with his mother. The joy and amusement in his eyes at the party she'd thrown for him just last week. She would not allow all that work to come crashing down upon them, especially not because of Ricky's recent behavior. She would not have it.

"—disappointed," she finally finished in a tearful angry whisper.

At her words, Sharon could see a small flash of something that could have been shame finally cross Ricky's face.

"Oh my _God,_" she continued sadly, holding his gaze steadily. "I am so disappointed in you right now, I don't even know what to say." The silence settled between them, and Sharon continued to glare at him for a moment, seeing the tears of shame pooling in his eyes. Holding back her own tears, she turned on her heel and left without another word.

When she walked back through that same door hours later, the condo was quiet. Ricky was back on the couch, clicking away at his computer once more. Feet up on the coffee table again. Sharon sighed, but didn't address the issue.

"Hey."

"Mom."

Ricky looked up as she entered, smiling a little tightly.

Sharon looked around the room deliberately, then asked, "Is Rusty here?"

Closing up his computer, Ricky got to his feet and turned to her.

"Yeah, he's back in his room. I think he's scared of me, to be honest."

Not saying a word, Sharon quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I know, Mom. With good reason. I was a jerk."

Sharon nodded. "That's true." She stepped out of her shoes and hung her purse by the door. "And if you've decided to make a change, then that's all I'll say about it." She looked over her shoulder at him pointedly.

"I have."

Touching his face affectionately as she passed, she nodded. "Good." She padded toward the hallway, turning back at the last moment. "I haven't slept in nearly two days, so I'm not cooking tonight. Why don't you pick some take-out and take the Volvo to pick it up?"

Ricky looked slightly confused. "I'm pretty sure they deliver around here, Mom."

"They do, but I'd much rather you went and picked it up," Sharon replied, smiling sweetly at him.

Crossing his arms lightly over his chest, Ricky sighed. "You know, if you want me to make myself scarce so you and Rusty can talk for a minute, you could just say so."

"Oh." Sharon visibly relaxed. "I do. But I also want some Kung-Pao chicken and beef and broccoli." She smirked.

"I thought I was choosing the place!" Ricky let out a sound of exasperation.

Sharon continued to smirk, pulling her jacket off as she answered. "Well you were going to pick that Chinese place down the road. So I saved you some valuable time." Folding her jacket over her arms, she gestured gently with her hands. "Go on." She turned from him, walking down the hall to her room. She sat heavily on the end of her bed, trying very hard not to just fall back and sleep fully clothed. She removed her glasses and closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose. There was a sudden creak in the hallway, and Sharon's eyes snapped open again to find Rusty's head peeking uncertainly through the open doorway.

"Rusty." She got to her feet again quickly. "I just need a minute to change, alright? And then we can talk for a minute."

"Oh. Okay." He backed out of the doorway quickly.

"Just wait for me out in the living room?" She closed the door softly on his muffled sound of assent and heard him cautiously make his way down the hall. She quickly changed into something more comfortable and slipped back down the hall to the living room.

Rusty was in the kitchen, pulling a soda from the refrigerator when she entered. Sharon could see that much of the crippling anxiety from that morning had disappeared. He seemed a little lighter, more comfortable.

"You get any more sleep this morning?" She perched on one of the bar stools, facing him.

"Yeah—Well, no. Not really." He gave her a sideways glance. "Full disclosure?"

Sharon nodded in encouragement.

"I heard you this morning."

Her heart stopped; shoulders slumped. If he had heard, that might be a pretty large complication.

"I-I wasn't eavesdropping or anything, Sharon, I swear," he rushed to explain. "I'm just not a very heavy sleeper, you know, and, like, you guys were sort of loud."

Sharon relaxed slightly. It was possible he hadn't heard the damaging parts. The hurtful things Ricky had said before Sharon had shouted at him.

"How much did you hear?"

Rusty sipped his soda calmly, avoiding her gaze.

"You know, just, like, the part when you got mad." He looked up at her now, grinning a little. "So, Ricky's not crazy about my name, huh?"

They looked at each other for a moment, Sharon gauging his reaction. Then they both started to laugh.

Sharon stopped first, sobering quickly.

"I'm sorry you heard that, Rusty. That was not…" She trailed off vaguely.

"I'm not."

Looking up in surprise, Sharon saw a somewhat hopeful expression settle upon his features.

"I mean, you guys aren't still mad, right? Because I _really_ don't want to cause some big fight."

"No," Sharon replied. "We aren't still mad."

He looked relieved.

"Good. But I'm glad I heard it. Because I liked hearing what you said about me." He held up his hands a little defensively. "Don't get me wrong, it sucked. But it was sorta cool hearing you take my side."

Sharon nodded. He was starting to get it. This unconditional love thing. This idea that she could shout and seethe at her family (him included) and it wouldn't be the end of their relationship. But his obvious surprise that she had defended him so vehemently still gave her pause. She was about to say, _I__'__m always on your side_, but Rusty continued.

"And to be honest, I always thought your yelling voice was reserved for me and criminals." He grinned sheepishly across at her. "I haven't heard you that angry since that day with Daniel—" He stopped speaking suddenly, and Sharon saw some sort of realization dawn.

"Right," she said quietly. "I don't let my anger take over for just anyone."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Sharon knew they were both thinking of that day. The way her rage and disbelief had almost rendered her speechless. _"__That you even have to ask that, after seeing those pictures!__" _Sharon knew she had a reputation as an ice queen, who never gave an emotional response unless it was absolutely necessary. She drew strength from it. _"__You__'__re not cut out for the job._" But when she did lose her carefully guarded calmness, it was cold. It was strong. Her rage in defense of her children was as unyielding as her love.

Rusty finally spoke again, slowly and deliberately, like he was working something out. "So did you know, then?"

"Know what?"

"That you were going to keep me as long as you have?"

Sharon reached up and slipped her glasses off, hooking them on the front of her shirt as she considered the question carefully.

"I knew after the first week," she said finally. "I suspected it even while I was shouting at you about _my_ living room," she smirked a little ruefully at the memory. "But when I thought I'd lost you, that's when I knew." She looked at him steadily from her perch on a stool. "That's when I knew you'd always have a home here."

Rusty nodded, finishing his soda silently. There was a long pause.

"Yeah." He looked up. "I still say we should wait a little, until Ricky is more comfortable."

Sharon shook her head. "No. If that's the only reason, we're not putting it off. It's too important." She got to her feet and walked around the counter toward him. Wordlessly, she brought both hands up to his face, holding it for just a moment and looking at him kindly. "Alright?"

He sighed. "Alright."

They both heard keys jingle in the door at that moment, and turned to see Ricky walk back in with a take-out bag.

"Perfect timing!" Sharon exclaimed and reached out to take the bag from Ricky. "You two get some glasses and plates out on the table, please."

Ricky looked over the top of his mother's head to Rusty over by the table. "Sorry, I wasn't really sure what you liked. But I figure there's enough here to make do." He took some plates down from a cabinet and started distributing them around the table. "Next time you'll have to come along so I can figure out what you like."

Sharon watched from behind the sink as Rusty looked over at her a little uncertainly. She nodded encouragingly as he placed the glasses and silverware around the table, saying, "Yeah. Maybe. I mean, I'm not really picky."

Snorting a little as she brought the cartons of food to the table and they sat down, Sharon made a little sound of disbelief at his words.

"Oh, come on, Sharon. Not liking kale does _not_ make me picky." Rusty rolled his eyes as he dug into the food before him.

"I didn't say anything," Sharon said a little amusedly, glancing over at Ricky beside her. Ricky was silent for a moment, seeming to just observe while he ate.

Finally, he spoke. "So, I hear you play chess, Rusty."

Rusty looked up from his food, a little uncertain yet again. Sharon watched quietly, slowly eating.

"Yeah. I mean, yes. I played on a team for a while when I was in school. And I like to go play in the park not too far from here."

Ricky nodded. "Mom says you're pretty good."

Sharon smiled, but still remained silent.

Ricky continued, "You ever play with a professional?"

Rusty shook his head. "No. Dr. Joe is really good. Probably the best I've played with. But he's not a pro or anything."

Ricky shot Sharon a questioning look at the reference, but she just subtly shook her head, refusing to open that particular can of worms at this time. Rusty was touchy about therapy as it was, and what with Ricky's attempted psychoanalysis that morning…They were not going there.

"Well, there's this guy I work with up north who's a highly rated professional. You and Mom should come up sometime. I could set up a meeting. Or a game. From what Mom says, I think you could take him."

Relaxing visibly at Ricky's obvious attempt to turn over a new leaf, Sharon smiled. "So Ricky," she said, changing the subject, "tell us about this new company of yours. I want to hear the whole story."

She and Ricky talked for a while about his work; though, to be honest, Sharon didn't quite understand the actual work he did. He dropped little hints here and there of things they might enjoy up north, but Sharon didn't really bite. Rusty seemed able to follow some of the tech-talk, but looked lost at the discussion of mergers and acquisitions. He'd adopted a bit of a glazed-over look when everyone seemed to finally be finished. He jumped up and started clearing away the dishes almost immediately. Ricky eventually rose as well, clearing away the food.

"You know, Mom, someday soon you and Rusty are gonna have to come to San Francisco and let me take you to this place… They've got the best dumplings in the world." He joined Rusty in the kitchen, organizing the cartons of leftovers as Rusty loaded the dishwasher.

Sharon smiled happily at the image before her, of her boys working in tandem with Ricky's new attitude and Rusty's still slightly awkward a nervous energy around him. It was nice to see. And the promise of good dumplings didn't hurt, either.

"Huh. From all the stuff you've been inviting us to do tonight," Rusty began a little challengingly, "sounds like everything's better up north."

Amused at Rusty's apparent pride in his Southern California roots, Sharon watched with interest as Rusty came back to sit at the table.

"How did you manage to survive growing up here in LA?"

Still grinning broadly at the playful dig, Sharon just observed the two young men for a moment. It was sweet how Rusty seemed to feel the need to defend the value of his own and, indeed, Ricky's upbringing. Sharon and Rusty shared a quick look. His defense of their situation was wonderfully endearing.

"Well, it's not so bad, being here. You know, if you don't mind breathing air you can see."

Rusty didn't miss a beat.

"And how would you describe inhaling all of the fog where you live?"

His awkward anxiety around Ricky seemed to have disappeared for the moment, Sharon thought bemusedly. He was holding his own. She giggled a little and looked over at Ricky to see his reaction.

Ricky chuckled good-naturedly as well. "Funny," he said to Sharon as he pointed over at Rusty. "He's a funny guy."

Shrugging in acquiescence, Sharon grinned, still remaining relatively silent. She and Rusty shared another look, Sharon assuring him that it was okay, Rusty still a little unsure but pushing through.

"Okay," Ricky said a little more seriously, coming back to sit down between Sharon and Rusty. "Funny guy. I have one question for ya."

Sharon watched a little anxiously, hoping against hope that Ricky wouldn't take yet another page out of his father's book and delve straight into the sexuality questions. She waited, praying it would be something easy, maybe even something that Rusty could make into a joke again. But Ricky's serious expression didn't imply such a question.

"…before you officially become the little brother I never wanted."

Sharon's anxiety mounted. She wasn't sure that that was a joke.

"Let me trust in what your idea of family is, and what the word means to you. Family." Ricky dropped the question, then leaned back and waited for a response, scrutinizing Rusty as he began to answer.

For her part, Sharon was torn between a little anxiety at the big question Ricky had just dropped on Rusty without much warning, and curiosity at what Rusty's response would be.

"Well." Rusty spoke slowly, hands fidgeting and crossing his body in that protective stance once more. "I guess… It means the people in your life who you've decided to…"

He paused, and Sharon watched him closely as he veered toward that word that he avoided taking on so directly. _Love_. Sharon knew he was careful with that word. He didn't use it idly. In truth, Sharon knew what a big deal it was for him to use it in front of someone he was just coming to know, with the understanding that this love was something they would share. Rusty was just as private as Sharon herself was. And there was something incredibly loving in his willingness to share this emotional ideal.

"…to love, no matter what."

Rusty stopped again, and Sharon could tell he was aware of the way she was looking at him, that he was a little embarrassed by it. But she didn't look away.

"…And the people who are going to love you back, no matter what."

He finished, and his eyes slowly came back around to meet hers, seeming to ask if that was the right answer. She smiled warmly and looked over at Ricky, communicating to Rusty that it wasn't for her to judge, this time.

"Sounds pretty good to me," she finally said, looking between them hopefully. Ricky finally smiled, a little of the tension dissipating. "Loving each other no matter what." She looked from Ricky to Rusty, communicating something different to each child, but still somehow with equal love.

Finally, Ricky seemed to be satisfied and he relaxed, almost winking at Rusty as he said, "Not bad," and Rusty relaxed as though he'd just passed a crucial test.

Looking on with pride at the whole-hearted attempt at a change she was witnessing in Ricky, Sharon waited again with somewhat bated breath to see how this might end.

"Alright, little brother," Ricky leaned forward again, and Sharon suddenly found that as terrible and inexpressible as her anger had been this morning, her pride in his abrupt turnaround was equally wonderful and inexpressible.

"Have any questions for me?"

Sharon watched Rusty think about it for a moment seriously, then suddenly come up with one. He sat up straighter and leaned forward a little.

"Yeah, uh, just one."

"Shoot."

Ricky spoke with a friendly, open tone, and Sharon looked on with curiosity. There was none of the anxiety she'd felt when Ricky had asked something of Rusty, but she was still infinitely interested in this new dynamic emerging between her two boys. And Rusty had that mysterious look on his face that usually foreshadowed a rug being pulled from beneath someone's feet.

"Who cuts your hair?"

At that, Sharon lost her quiet demeanor, giggling into her chest at the sudden unexpected lightness of the question, snorting in her amusement at Ricky's expense.

Looking a little offended, mostly at her snorting laughter at his expense rather than Rusty's question itself, he looked over at her, affronted.

"Wh-What? Don't snort-laugh!"

He looked seriously offended, and Sharon tried to reign in the laughter, but to no avail. Rusty had a point.

"Don't be laughing!"

Ricky finally seemed to give up and turned back to Rusty, who was also laughing at both Sharon's reaction and the ridiculous hairstyle on full display at the moment.

"I cut my hair, it saves me tons of money…" he finally cracked up at the sight and sounds of both Sharon and Rusty openly giggling at him. "What?!"

Trying to hold in full-throttled laughter, Sharon's voice was high and marked by withheld giggles as she reached up to ruffle Ricky's hair, half disbelieving, half affectionately. "Well that explains it!" She touched his face a little sympathetically as she continued to giggle and laugh from her seat.

Finally, Ricky seemed to give in. "Okay, alright. Like a lot of other decisions I've made recently," he looked meaningfully over at Sharon, "I am… re-thinking it."

"Thank God," Rusty immediately chimed in, while Sharon continued to laugh, partly at Rusty's comeback, and partly at the unfortunate hair flying every which way on Ricky's head.

"I am, I'm—stop it—" he directed the last words at his mother again, who seemed unable to contain her laughter anymore. "—I'm re-thinking it."

Sharon's hands were over her face, trying to hold in the sound as she rocked slightly back and forth in her chair.

"Seriously, man," Rusty broke in again, "you've got to fix that."

Ricky looked defeated, glancing from one giggling face to the other. "You two are ridiculous. Are you always like this?"

Sharon finally seemed to be able to breathe again, the laughter subsiding somewhat. "You just seem to have this affect on us." At his expression of consternation, Sharon dissolved into giggles again.

"Fine. Do you two know a hair place? I'll go tomorrow if it will make you two stop!"

Sharon was still lost to the giggles, but Rusty piped up, "Have you met your mother? She's all about proper hair-care! Like, how are you two related?"

Ricky just rolled his eyes. "You're totally wasted on me, Mom, happy? Now do you know a place?"

Finally surfacing, Sharon nodded. "There's a walk-in place not far from here. We'll take you tomorrow," she managed to get out, before Rusty's eyes met hers again and they both collapsed into giggles.

"Rusty, you are a very bad influence on her!" Ricky jumped up from the table and headed back down the hall to the shower, Sharon and Rusty's laughter echoing behind him.


	6. Ignorance, Ire, Anguish

**Well this turned into a monster of a fic. I probably should have divided it into two or even three, but I just couldn't do that to you guys. So here we are. All the conspicuously absent Mothership scenes from that summer finale, plus a healthy dose of Sharon angst. **

**Behind the Curtain**

3x10: Ignorance/Ire/Anguish

Sharon knocked softly on the door, then pushed it open quietly and stepped through. She squinted through the darkness, feeling her way over to the bed and kneeling down beside it. Gently, she pulled the comforter down a bit to reveal Rusty's face and shoulders, still fast asleep in a tight angular ball, curled on his side. She brought a hand up to his shoulder, half-rubbing, half-shaking him softly awake.

"Urrumph."

An arm came up to rub his face from under the blanket.

"Honey, you don't have to get up," she whispered softly, still crouching at his level. She rubbed his back soothingly and brushed some hair out of his eyes as they finally opened and met hers. "But I have to go, alright?"

She rarely went to crime scenes. Partly a vestige of those early days with the division, when she'd ceded the crime scenes almost entirely to Lieutenant Provenza, a compromise she'd been more than willing to make. But these days it was much less about maintaining the peace between herself and her second-in-command, and more about her unwillingness to leave Rusty in the house alone in the dead of night, which was when the majority of their murders came in. He had enough problems with abandonment without waking up to an empty house all those mornings. But she didn't mind. Provenza was more than capable, and her strength as a leader had always been delegating and facilitating a cohesive group effort.

Rusty grunted sleepily, finally forcing out a single word.

"Where?"

He started to sit up, but Sharon stopped him with a little pressure on his back from the hand still resting there.

"No, Rusty, go on back to sleep. It's two in the morning." He relaxed against the mattress once more. "We've got a kidnapping, so I really have to go. You know the drill." She pulled the comforter back over his shoulders again. "Text me if you need something, or go somewhere. There's plenty of food in the kitchen." She slowly rose to a standing position again, her fingers brushing over the hair around Rusty's face once more. "I'll call you later." She turned back to the door.

"'Kay. Bye," Rusty's sleepy muffled voice whispered in her wake.

She turned back to look at him once more at the door. He'd been so strange yesterday evening; not really moody, but quiet. Lost in thought. He'd barely touched the burgers she'd brought home especially, didn't even tease her about the sweet potato fries she'd ordered rather than the regular ones.

"_Rusty, are you—" She stopped herself. Clearly he wasn't ready to talk about it yet. _

_Was he still working through all that had happened last week when Ricky came to visit? The first couple of days had been a bit of a catastrophe, but they had seemed alright by the end. _

_Rusty hadn't even looked up from his plate at her unfinished sentence, still practically boring holes through the table with the intensity of his gaze. Sharon knew better than to push him when he was like this. So much of this carefully constructed life they'd built together was about his ability to make his own decisions whenever possible. She was always in charge, there was no doubt about that. But Rusty was always in control. Of course, Sharon was always able to craft the decisions he faced, particularly in those early days, in such a way that he always made the 'right' decisions. It wasn't manipulation, she reasoned. It was careful guidance. But Rusty was so smart. He had seen through her gentle suggestions quite early on. So here they were. Sharon, still presenting his life decisions in such a way that the proper choice was obvious, and Rusty, knowing what she was doing and just letting it go, occasionally teasing her about it when she was a little too obvious about it. _

_It worked. But this, sitting next to her at the dinner table, whatever 'this' was, was delicate. She could tell. If she pushed, she knew his fight-or-flight instincts would be triggered. Excruciating as it was, she had to wait. Let him bring it up himself. _

_He was still staring with frightening intensity at his half-eaten burger and fries. Deciding to try to bring him out of it slightly, she reached over and squeezed his forearm lightly. He jumped almost violently, eyes finally flicking up to hers. _

"_Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" she trailed off for a moment, trying to formulate a phrase that might prompt a conversation without actually, well, prompting one. This was not going well. She cast around for some reason to have disturbed his thoughts. "Could you, uh, pass the pepper please?" She pointed at the salt and pepper shakers on his other side. He nodded absently and passed them over to her almost robotically, avoiding her gaze. He didn't notice when she set them down on the table without using them._

Standing in the doorway now, considering his sleeping form in the darkness again, Sharon couldn't shake an uneasy feeling in the back of her mind. Rusty was facing something; a choice. Because that's what life is, isn't it. A series of choices, each one leading to another. But he wasn't ready to let her in on this one.

She closed the door softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment and tying off the long black trench coat wrapped around herself. Sharon allowed the uneasy feeling to take her, but only for a moment. Then she straightened and made her way out of the apartment.

It was nearly noon before she got the chance to check in on him again. And all she really had time for was a hurried phone call.

"Oh, hey, Sharon."

The unmistakable sound of a cellphone being used in a moving car rustled in her ear. Trying valiantly not to sound at all concerned, she replied, "Oh. I'm sorry Rusty. I didn't realize you were driving. Should I call back later?" In truth, she was more than a little concerned now.

"No, it's cool."

The background noise stopped rather abruptly and she heard a car door open and shut.

"I'm actually just downstairs from you," he continued. "I, uh… Well I was bored. And I was sorta hoping I could maybe get a couple minutes with Lieutenant Provenza?" He finished hopefully.

"Oh." A little surprised, Sharon looked up from her desk to see Mike waving at her from the Murder Room. She nodded at him and held up a finger. "Yes. Well, Rusty, we're very busy around here today with this kidnapping, but I'm sure the Lieutenant could spare a few minutes for you." She got up and began to walk towards her office door.

"Okay."

Sharon opened the door and began to walk through it as she tried to wind down the conversation. "But I really have to go now. So if I don't see you while you're here, I'll see you at home later." She finally hung up and joined Mike, Julio, Buzz and Provenza in the Murder Room.

Provenza's quiet disappearance a few moments later did not go unnoticed. There was a part of her that was a little hurt by Rusty's inclination to go to the Lieutenant first. That small, selfish voice that aided in her ongoing quest for new shoes and sometimes wished Jack would just 'accidentally' drive off the edge of Mulholland. That tiny part of her wanted Rusty to come to her with these things. She wanted to know what it was. She wanted to help. So maybe it wasn't so selfish. But in her heart of hearts, she was glad that Rusty had a male role model in whom to confide. That was at least one thing he had over her other children. And she could definitely live with that.

Predictably, she didn't make it home that night. Even though they'd recovered the missing officer before the end of the day, the debriefings and loose ends had kept her downtown until the next morning. Sharon finally had time for a quick shower and change of clothes back at the condo by seven o'clock.

The apartment was still dark and quiet when she entered, exhausted and sore. Sharon headed straight for the shower, trying to stay quiet and let Rusty sleep. They were like ships passing in the night, at least for the last few days; but as much as she hated leaving him alone during the day, especially when she suspected he was working through something big, she couldn't bring herself to wake him.

But it hadn't mattered in the end. He was awake, dressed, and making her a pot of coffee by the time she was clean and dressed once more.

"Hey." He was leaning against the bar, facing the table as she walked in. "You got in late. I made you some coffee." he pointed vaguely behind him.

Sharon could have hugged him. He was unbelievably sweet sometimes. "I didn't get in at all, actually. And I have to go right back. But thank you for the coffee." She made her way over to the coffee-maker and busied herself with making a cup. Rusty turned in place, now leaning over the bar with his elbows braced on the surface, still watching Sharon. He had that look on his face. The one that Sharon knew all too well. It was nervous, conflicted, and a little guilty. The look that generally preceded a conversation that began with, "Sharon, now don't freak out…" A little concerned by what she was about to hear, but mostly just relived that he seemed ready to let her in on this latest crisis, she turned toward him, stirring her coffee a little and leaning back against the counter behind her. She waited.

"Can I ask you something, Sharon?"

She hummed softly in reply, sipping from her coffee.

"When my Mom came back, why didn't you arrest her?"

Sharon looked up sharply. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Rusty looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously on the counter in front of him. "Well, like, when you tried to get her to come back the first time, you said that there were like, some laws and stuff that you guys had to take into consideration or something." His eyes met hers again. "And I didn't really get it at the time, but you must have told the police in Reno something to get them to, like, find her and get her on the phone. And you don't lie. So it must have been real. But you didn't send someone to go bring her here by force. You made her a deal, right? And let her come on her own."

She set the mug down on the counter behind her and walked back toward him, standing on the other side of the sink. She wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but she was sure it was nowhere good.

"Why are you asking about this now?"

He swallowed, looking back down at his fidgeting hands nervously.

"I'll tell you in a minute, Sharon. But can you just answer, please?"

Sharon was quiet for a long moment, organizing her thoughts carefully. "Alright. But I really don't think it matters, since she never made it here at that time."

Rusty straightened, looking directly at her now. "Okay, but when she came back for real, Provenza got her out of the rehab for the day by saying something about, like, child abandonment charges. So you guys could have arrested her. But you didn't."

Sighing and running her fingers through her hair, Sharon nodded. "You're right. We could have. But there were many different reasons that we didn't." She brought up a hand and pulled off her glasses, watching Rusty intently as she continued. "That first time, I didn't arrest her or ask the Reno police to arrest her because a willing participant is always much more amenable to a negotiation." She kept the second reason to herself for the moment, moving on. "And with her recent appearance…" Sharon trailed off, choosing her words carefully. "From a police perspective, there wasn't a purpose to it. It was immediately clear that she was serving out a court mandate, and I didn't see the good in pressing charges for something that she seemed to be trying to make up for." Rusty was nodding, seeming to take it all in silently, so she continued steadily. "As you'll recall, I didn't arrest Mr. Dunn either, when I definitely could have." She smiled reassuringly over at him. "I've been doing this for a long time, you know. And I've found that arresting people is not always the best solution." Finally she stopped, watching him consider her words for a moment.

"Okay," he began slowly. "But those are just rules, and like, your job. I want to know the other reasons."

Buying herself a little time, she turned back to her mug of coffee behind her. "Well, Rusty, when I arrest people, I'm doing my job." She sipped her coffee for a moment. Loathe as she was to admit it, she wasn't someone for whom emotional openness and transparency was easy. It was one of the reasons she had been such a good fit for Rusty, and she knew that. The irony of this moment wasn't lost on her; Sharon, moments ago wishing for some personal openness from Rusty, determined not to push him into anything, now being pushed into a conversation about her personal feelings that she knew might very well force Rusty into a defensive position. It might be funny if she weren't so exhausted.

At her words, Rusty groaned and turned away from her, back toward the table. "Come _on, _Sharon. You know what I mean. You are not just a detective!"

Smiling at his dramatic gestures of exasperation, Sharon came around from behind the sink to join him at the table, coffee still in hand.

"You're right. I'm not. But I do have to take all those rules seriously, and follow them exactly when it comes to things like this. So when I make decisions like those, the law _is_ a major consideration." She saw Rusty open his mouth in indignation again, rolling his eyes. "Don't roll your eyes, I'm not finished," she said playfully. "But, as your m—" she stopped, mentally berating herself. "M—uh, guardian," she flubbed a little lamely, "it is my job to make sure that every decision I make is in your best interest. My primary concern _has_ to be your well-being." Her verbal slip had not gone unnoticed. Rusty was sitting across from her at the table now, avoiding her eyes in a gesture of mild embarrassment and discomfort at the quiet, personal tone and nature of her words as well as her near-misstep. "So when I made those choices about people directly related to you, I had to consider your best interests, then the restrictions of the law."

Rusty nodded. "Okay. So then, after she…" he trailed off, and Sharon knew they were both thinking of that awful last phone conversation. "…uh, got out. You didn't do anything then either. When I know you could have, if you wanted…"

Sharon was quiet. Truthfully, Sharon Beck hadn't done anything worthy of arrest that night, to her knowledge. But Rusty was right. If she'd thought it would help, Sharon certainly could have had her arrested. "It wouldn't have helped anyone, Rusty. Least of all you." Sharon smiled, trying to tamp down the rising panic at the direction of their conversation. "And that's my number one concern." Pushing her glasses back onto her face, she watched him intently as she spoke. "Now honey, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

She was almost sure she knew. She just hoped she was wrong.

"Okay… But don't freak out, Sharon."

Almost amused out of her concern for what was coming next, Sharon nodded. She'd known this was coming. It was sort of…nice. Knowing what she was in for with him before he opened his mouth. Somewhat lessened the panic fluttering and almost palpable in the air around her. Sure, she didn't know exactly what the crisis was yet, but at least she knew there _was_ one.

"Well, my Mom called on Friday."

Not wholly unexpected, the news still weighed heavily on Sharon. Her face remained impassive, however. "Oh?"

"Yeah. And she's—uh—she's in the county jail."

Sharon slumped a little in sympathy. "Oh, Rusty. I'm so sorry." That wasn't quite what she had been expecting. Her mind had been running rampant with increasingly serious situations in which Sharon Beck was directly involving Rusty in a series of illegal activities. Jail was bad. But not nearly so bad as she had been imagining.

"But Sharon, I _really_ don't want you to go out of your way or anything. I'm not asking you to get her out or anything like that, okay? I just, like, don't want to cause any more problems for you."

"Rusty, I've told you a hundred times. You are never a problem." Sharon smiled a little tearfully and touched his hand lightly. "Now, what can I do to help? Do you want me to take you to see her later—?"

"No, no, no, no. I really don't want to put you out." He looked away a little guiltily. "And, um. I kinda already went to see her. On Friday, right after she called."

"Ah. And how was that?" Sharon fought to maintain an appropriately unconcerned expression as she finished her coffee, her voice light and unchallenging.

"Fine. Whatever." He shook his head. "That's not what I want to talk about. She got arrested for shoplifting."

Sharon sighed, putting down her empty coffee cup and opening her mouth to speak. But Rusty cut her off.

"No, no. I don't want you to get her out or anything," he said earnestly. "I already talked to Lieutenant Provenza. And like, he found out for me that it wasn't just shoplifting." He stood up and started to pace a little nervously behind his chair. "She took, like, some stuff from a department store and some other stuff, but she also had some drugs in her purse."

Heart sinking fast, Sharon remained silent. She'd been here enough, with an addicted loved one, to desperately wish she could save Rusty from this sort of disappointment. She knew she would never put him through this sort of emotional trauma. She knew he would never do it to anyone he loved. But the fact that she couldn't protect him from the vicious cycle of his mother's addiction was almost more than she could bear.

Rusty was still speaking. "So the lieutenant says it's not just, you know, the shoplifting, but also she violated her parole. And that means she has to do, like, six years."

"Mm-hmm," Sharon hummed neutrally. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I don't know, Sharon." He finally stopped pacing, leaning over the back of the chair with a heart wrenchingly conflicted look on his face. "I mean, I was saying to the Lieutenant that jail isn't exactly, you know, a bad thing. Because I'd know where she is. And she probably wouldn't be doing drugs."

At that last comment, Sharon opened her mouth, then closed it, deciding to let it pass for the time being.

"But six years… It just seems like kinda… Well, a lot."

Nodding once more, Sharon kept her silence, waiting for Rusty to finish.

"So I was thinking maybe, there could be a deal or something…?"

Sharon was quiet for a long minute, contemplating her empty mug.

Finally, she looked up at his hopeful face and smiled slightly. "If that is what you want, Rusty, I'll see what I can do." She got to her feet, setting her mug in the sink. "And for what it's worth…" She started to walk toward the door, trailing off for a minute. "I am so sorry about all of this."

Their eyes met for a time, silence stretching between them in spite of the clear communication passing from one to the other.

"Alright," she said finally, turning to leave. "I'll be back later. Call me if you need me."

Lieutenant Provenza was waiting for her when she arrived at the office a few minutes later.

"Ah, Lieutenant. Just the person I was hoping to see." She smiled as she stepped of the elevator. "I understand that you and Rusty have come up with some negotiation points for this business with Sharon Beck."

The Lieutenant paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. "I think you're going to want to hold that thought for a moment, Captain." He started to walk toward the murder room, handing over a few files. "These just need your signature, then this whole kidnapping mess will be someone else's problem."

Sharon skimmed through the various forms and reports as she walked through the door Provenza was holding open for her. They walked back toward her office in relative silence as she looked through the paperwork. When they reached the room, she absently closed her purse up in the usual drawer of her desk and pulled out a pen to sign off on all the paperwork.

"So, Lieutenant. About this deal for Sharon Beck…"

Provenza held up a hand to silence her. "Ah. Before we get to that, I think you should join me in electronics." He gestured for her to precede him out the door. Curious and a little concerned, Sharon complied, allowing him to guide her quietly back across the empty Murder Room into electronics.

"Now that Officer Sherman has been safely located," Provenza began, holding the door open for her and allowing Sharon to stand in front of the blank monitors next to Lieutenant Flynn, "and the Feds have taken over the human trafficking aspect of the case, I think it's time for you to check in with Rusty's Mom." He pointed toward the monitors and Buzz, looking supremely displeased at the prospect of whatever was about to happen.

For her part, the panic that had been slightly lessened after her discussion with Rusty a short while ago was now back in full force. Clearly she hadn't heard the whole story. The expressions on everyone's faces did not instill her with much confidence.

"I've cued up the really awful part of their visit," Buzz said uncomfortably from his seat in front of her.

There had been a really awful part? More awful than blaming Rusty's sexual orientation for her drug use? More awful than calling that beautiful boy less than 24 hours out of rehab, drunk and needy again? More awful than abandoning that boy at an urban zoo with no resources in the first place?

At a certain point, didn't one's humanity step in? She turned to look at Andy, apprehension etched in her face. Seeking she didn't know what in his face.

"Trust me," he said sadly. "You're gonna wanna see this. Buzz?"

True panic and apprehension setting in now, Sharon finally turned back to the monitors as she heard Sharon Beck's voice issuing from the speakers.

"Is there any way you could…I don't know, come up with five hundred dollars?"

Sharon stared intently at the images of Rusty and his mother in front of her, listening hard, fearful of what horror awaited her. Why had he gone there without telling her? She would never have stopped him from going, but she would have done…something. He didn't deserve to see his mother that way.

"And, where do you think I'm supposed to get five hundred dollars, Mom?" Rusty's voice had that stressed, uncomfortable pitch to it. That tone she knew so well, that indicated how close he was to true distress. Lately, she'd only heard it when he'd worked himself into another state, worried that he was causing her problems. Hearing it now was so much worse, knowing it was caused by someone or something else external.

"I'm… D'you…?" Sharon Beck stopped.

For a heart-stopping moment, Sharon thought the woman was going to suggest Rusty sell something. Probably something of Sharon's.

The reality was so much worse.

"D'you still do that work you did, on the side?"

For a moment, Sharon didn't fully comprehend what she'd just heard. She froze, transfixed; unable to process the words.

"When I was away? I wouldn't judge you—"

Sharon's eyes widened as her brain slowly began to process the horror unfolding before her. It was Rusty's response, however, that both broke her and got the cogs behind her eyes to start moving once more.

"Are you serious, Mom?! NO! I do _not_ do that work anymore. And never talk to me about that again!"

His voice broke; and with it, Sharon's heart. Her eyes widened. Her heart pounded. And worst of all, tears threatened. She swallowed hard, fighting to focus on Sharon Beck's next words.

"You know what? Forget it. _Forget it_, okay? Forget it."

Buzz paused the tape, and everyone was silent.

Finally, a low, quiet growl broke the silence. A voice that Sharon suddenly realized was issuing from her own mouth.

"Play it again. From the beginning."

Somehow in context, her shock and horror intensified. The threatening tears disappeared, her expression hardened, developing into cold and carefully controlled rage.

When it was over, she walked silently from the room straight back into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her, pulling the blinds sharply closed.

"_D'you still do that work you did, on the side…?" _

Sharon closed her eyes against the reverberating words, leaning against the closed door heavily and drawing in a shaky breath. Her hands clutched desperately at the hem of her blazer, tugging at it unsteadily in her rage and anguish.

Rusty's silent moody contemplation of his dinner the other night suddenly all made sense. The way he'd closed off, seemingly without warning. His sleeping form curled into a tight, protective ball when she'd woken him so briefly hours later.

She wasn't really religious; she knew her prayers, had memorized the saints, and said her vows. She knew all the rules. But she didn't always believe in God. She didn't always doubt his existence either. There had been moments in her career and indeed her life, more than she'd care to admit, when she'd wondered if there really was a God. The first time she'd seen a murdered child, back when she had been in uniform. The evening she'd been called to the home of an officer who had shot and killed his entire family, asleep in their beds, before turning the gun on Sharon, the detective who had suspended him without pay for excessive force. The day Jack had left her with nothing but a letter, two bawling children, and scarcely two hundred dollars. Never before had she so wanted to rage and scream at that God.

A God who brought that sullen, ungrateful, but somehow irresistibly good young man into her life. But who also allowed all the pain and suffering that brought him to her in the first place. The God who supposedly created that beautiful mix of funny, smart, and sweet that somehow existed in that wonderful boy waiting for her at home. But who also gave that precious thing to two people who couldn't possibly take care of it. A God who looked on as man after man, including Rusty's own father, physically abused him. Who watched as the fifteen-year-old was forced to submit to rape and sexual abuse in order to survive. A God who allowed this woman, his mother, to use, abuse, and abandon him time after time.

"_D'you still do that work you did, on the side…?"_

Unbidden, another voice entered her mind.

"_No. I didn't sleep with him. Not me." _

Suddenly, Sharon could see Wade Weller's mother so vividly, in such detail that it was painful. That sterile, but nauseatingly so, smell of prison floating off of her meth-ravaged skin and mouth. The almost chillingly calm voice with which she detailed how and when she pimped out her own son at the tender age of thirteen.

Taking another unsteady breath, she opened her eyes, looking around the room without really seeing it, her vision blurred with the tears now beginning to fall. A trembling hand—was it anger, or despair that made it shake so?—pulled her glasses down her face. Her quaking hands proved unable to maintain their grip, and the spectacles tumbled to the floor with a clatter.

She didn't retrieve them.

Her hands curled tightly around her torso as she continued to lean heavily against the door.

"…_And all of those guys who picked me up on the street. And I can't fix it, Sharon. I can't fix it. I am just like them, Sharon. I am just like them."_

There was a part of her that had been relieved after meeting Weller's mother. A part that had rejoiced at the differences in their stories. At the idea that at least his mother had never done that. Never stooped so low as to sell her son for parts. Realizing now how wrong she had been, Sharon's fists clenched at her hips, her teeth gritting as the anguish turned into full-throttled rage.

Realizing the full implications of Sharon Beck's comment, Sharon breathed deeply, crouching to retrieve her glasses at last and pushing them roughly back on her face. She rose slowly back to her feet and walked deliberately over to her desk.

Should she feel grateful? That instead of keeping her boy and eventually pimping him out for drugs and money, dooming him to the sort of psychic pain and abuse that one never recovered from, she'd thrown him away like an old pair of shoes? That instead of damning him to a life wherein nothing came for nothing and his body was his only valuable asset, she'd left him to come to that decision on his own, a life lesson Sharon had worked tirelessly to help him un-learn? That by some random series of events, he'd landed in her lap? She wan't grateful.

She was enraged.

Sharon's hands weren't shaking anymore as she reached for the phone receiver on her desk and quickly dialed. The tears had stopped, and her face had gone stonily cold again.

"Andrea. I need you to draw up a statement of facts." There was a pause as she listened. "No. For Sharon Beck."

When she exited the office a few minutes later with her keys and purse in hand, Lieutenant Provenza was already on his feet, hurrying towards her. Andy was lurking in a corner, looking unsure as to whether he should jump in as well. Sharon saw Provenza give him a look, and Andy rolled his eyes as he turned away.

"Captain. Where are you off to?" Provenza stood solidly in her path, blocking her way to the door.

"Home, Lieutenant. It's the weekend, and we're finished here." She made to step around him, but he moved with her.

"And would that be by way of the county jail?"

Sharon quirked an eyebrow. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. I thank you sincerely for your concern, but _excuse me_." The final words were spoken in that deadly quiet voice that even Provenza knew to fear."

He stepped aside, and she passed briskly by him.

"Don't forget, they take your gun at the gate, Captain. I hope you have a back-up plan!" He shouted a little exasperatedly at her retreating back.

When Sharon arrived at the jail minutes later, all outward signs of her earlier heartbreak had disappeared. Her cold, calculated ire remained, however. She took a deep, calming breath as the guard finally buzzed her into the visitor area, pausing for the smallest of moments before walking over the grate.

She glided slowly down the narrow walkway behind the booths, finally stopping in front of the only occupied unit. Sharon Beck was already seated. As Sharon pulled the cold aluminum chair back and slowly lowered herself into it with a determinedly neutral expression, she saw that the woman had the nerve to look happy to see her. Sharon settled herself slowly and calmly in the chair, pulling it forward a little, eyes never leaving Sharon Beck's. Still making herself comfortable, Sharon wondered for a moment if Rusty's mother across from her realized how very lucky the two of them were, to be separated by that sturdy glass partition. Lucky in different ways, of course. But still unbelievably lucky.

Sharon finally stilled in her seat and reached for the receiver slowly as Sharon Beck did the same.

Rusty's mother smiled broadly at her through the glass, speaking first. "Captain Raydor. I—uh, is my son okay?"

Sharon's smile was perfunctory. The woman's instinct was right. And yet, it somehow made all of this harder and more painful. "Yes, he's fine."

The relief on the blonde woman's face might have further incensed Sharon further at another time. Today, further rage seemed impossible.

"I thought I would stop by first," she continued quietly, "and discuss the outlines of a _deal._"

Rusty's mother smiled in tentative relief at her words.

Sharon herself didn't smile, didn't waver; she maintained the same soft neutral tone she'd begun with, articulating each word slowly and deliberately. "I've talked with the District Attorney involved, and I've arranged a plea agreement for you."

Sharon Beck smiled broadly again in relief. More relieved, to Sharon's eye, than she had been at Sharon's assurance that her son was not hurt.

"Thank God," the woman across from her breathed into the receiver, clearly overjoyed. "Am I going back to rehab?"

Pausing for a moment, Sharon watched the woman through the partition, her anger disappearing for the briefest of seconds as she suddenly saw Rusty's face staring back at her. Rusty's blue eyes, sparkling with delight from behind that same broad toothy smile, a few strands of blond hair almost falling across his brow.

The image was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, and Sharon spoke again.

"No, no. I'm afraid that ship has sailed. However," she went on, maintaining what to an objective outsider might seem like a light and helpful tone, "in exchange for overlooking your probation violation, we've arranged for you to serve the full year of your _shoplifting charge, _here at county." She watched with some satisfaction as Sharon Beck's previous expression of relief and delight transformed into a mask of disgust and frustration. Sharon continued. "Or more precisely, three hundred and sixty-_four_ days, every one of which you will have to be sober."

Sharon's voice didn't threaten. It didn't so much as rise above a stage whisper. Nevertheless, it made it unmistakably clear to Sharon Beck sitting across from her that this deal was a gift. There was no negotiation to be had, no possibility for amendment.

"That's not a deal," the blonde woman said baldly into the receiver. Her smile and friendly facade had melted away rather suddenly.

"Oh it is." Sharon's own voice had lost its light and friendly tone now, transforming into the icily detached tone that so characterized her displeasure. Sharon saw that the change didn't pass unnoticed; Rusty's mother was now fixing her with her own fiery glare through the glass.

"If you don't remain sober," she began again, "or if you violate the statutes of prisoner conduct, I'll personally see to it that the six-year tail on your sentence is carried out to the letter, in an _upstate prison._" She spoke softly and dangerously, eyes never leaving the other woman's face as Sharon Beck shook her head in disbelief.

"Are you KIDDING me?!" The younger woman exploded in indignation. "Because I don't deserve this kind of treatment _at all!_."

Sharon watched her sadly again, visited by another flash of Rusty, loudly whining at her in frustration.

"_Are you kidding me, Sharon? Are you kidding me?!" _

Of course, he'd punctuated it with that rather dramatic face-first flop onto the sofa, followed almost immediately by that characteristic scoff and sarcastic dig. But whereas that particular reaction to his supposed privacy violations was rather endearing, it just seemed pathetic from his mother.

In the beginning, all of their fights had been marked by that tone of righteous indignation and perpetual victimhood.

"_God, Sharon! More Rules!"_

But at some point the shouting had stopped and rational discussion had won out. When the tone did manifest, as it had on that rather amusing morning when they'd discussed the prospect of Dr. Joe's report, Rusty seemed aware of it. Somehow, he'd un-learned that as well. That instant defensive outburst that seemed to be the way Sharon Beck fought too.

Of course, Rusty's earlier visit with his mother had been a special case.

"_NO! I do _not_ do that work anymore. And never talk to me about that again!"_

With an effort, Sharon pulled herself back to the conversation at hand.

"Oh, I agree," she replied, deathly quiet. "Unfortunately, anything more I could do to you would require a trial."

Sharon let that last word echo between them, the unwelcome results of such an action for both of them remaining unsaid in the subsequent silence. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could not take the issue for which she so wanted to hold this woman accountable to trial. She couldn't put Rusty through that. And this deal was for him, whatever else it was. It was a deal that balanced his physical and emotional well-being with the confines of the law.

"But I will make sure that you are drug-tested on a random basis," Sharon barreled on. "I will have your cell searched regularly."

The woman across from her scoffed dramatically again, an unknowing reminder of once again how far Rusty had come in Sharon's home. Sharon wasn't visited by a flash of Rusty's face making an identical expression. She knew he had at one time. But she couldn't remember it. He didn't do it anymore. He made different expressions.

Once, a few weeks ago, Rusty and Sharon had been out shopping together. Rusty had been patiently—well, patiently for him—watching her try on shoes with this odd little crooked smirk on his face when the sales woman had commented smilingly on how much "your handsome young man favors his mother." Sharon had been about to correct the mistake when she and Rusty both looked in the mirror at the same moment, seeing identical crooked smirks on the other's face. That smirk had been hers first, Sharon knew. And yet there it was on his face, too.

Sharon Beck's voice broke into the momentary memory.

"Anything else?"

"I will have confidential informants report to me on your behavior," Sharon started again, choosing to ignore the other woman's continued scoffing and sarcastic attitude through the glass. "And, this I promise you: one slip, one tiny step off the straight and narrow to the left or to the right, and you will automatically add six years to your sentence." She finally stopped, still gazing steadily through the partition at the other woman.

"Wha-Why are—" The younger woman slammed at the table before her in frustration, pointing a finger accusingly at Sharon through the glass. "You are mad at me for some reason! I get it. I don't know why."

Sharon didn't flinch, just continued to bore through the barrier dividing them with her eyes. Silence stretched between them once more, and Sharon almost felt sorry for Sharon Beck in her blue jump suit and her perpetual attitude of the victim.

"_D'you still do that work you did, on the side…?" _

Almost.

She broke the silence, still speaking in nothing above that quiet deliberate tone.

"That's the problem."

That was the problem. Rusty sat at her dining room table, barely touching his favorite food, hardly speaking, allowing an internal conflict to which Sharon was still ignorant to eat him instead. That was the problem. Somehow, this poor boy had come into the world not knowing what it was to have someone else put him first. And so she had put him first. Every moment of every day for more than two years now. And this woman, the Sharon who had given birth to him, who had been charged with putting him first for every moment of the sixteen years before that, had nearly ruined that pattern of security Sharon had worked so hard to maintain. And she'd done it with a single sentence, manifesting a selfish streak that even Jack himself couldn't hold a candle to. And this woman asked why. That was the problem.

"What about for Rusty's sake?" Sharon Beck's voice had taken on a tearful quality in Sharon's ear now, a quality adopted far to quickly and easily to be earnest. "What about…for the sake of my little boy?"

"_NO! I do _not_ do that work anymore. And never talk to me about that again!"_

Sharon refused to close her eyes or look away as the words echoed painfully in her head once more. Nodding slightly, she held Sharon Beck's gaze unflinchingly as she replied, "This is for Rusty's sake, it is."

Dropping all pretense, the younger woman scowled at Sharon through the barrier, speaking venomously.

"You think you know me, is that it? And you think you know my son?"

Still maintaining a calm and neutral expression, Sharon didn't dignify the question with a response.

"And you think you can just have me boxed up and outta the way?!"

Sharon sighed a little sadly as the other woman's voice began to rise again. For Rusty's sake, she'd hoped that this would go as painlessly as possible. She'd done everything she could to avoid such a direct confrontation. Yes, she knew Rusty. She knew what it was to be on the receiving end of a suddenly caught addict's almost violent frustration. She knew what this latest appearance by Sharon Beck was doing to both of them. She knew all of these things. And so much more.

"Lady, let me tell you something…You just made a really big mistake."

But Sharon was finished playing this game. Finished letting Sharon Beck come in and tear down that wonderful young man she so resembled. Finished letting this woman or anyone else ruin all of her and Rusty's hard work.

Wrath pounding in her ears, powering her cold detachment, Sharon smiled.

"I made a mistake?"

"Yes, you did!"

Sharon shook her head sardonically. "Oh, dear."

Her tone was soft, unchallenging, chillingly dangerous. Sharon had spent decades maneuvering a man's world, discovering that her power sometimes lay in embracing her femininity rather than banishing it. That well-timed emotion could get her what she needed. She'd spent a career carving out a presence that could silence with a whisper and terrify with a smile.

Chilling smile still evident on her face, Sharon went on, "Allow me to point out that you are the one in the blue jump suit surrounded by guards… And I'm getting up to go home." The unspoken words, _to my son_, hung in the air between them for a moment before Sharon hung up the receiver and walked away, not once looking back.

When she arrived home a short while later, Rusty was waiting for her on the couch, watching TV a little half-heartedly as he perched nervously on the end. He turned off the television immediately after she walked through the door and stepped out of her heels. She avoided his gaze for a minute while she hung her bag by the door and draped her jacket over a chair. She wasn't sure she was ready to see her own anguish reflected in his eyes.

Rusty spoke first. "So, did you figure anything out for my Mom?"

Sharon hummed softly in assent and moved over to sit next to him on the couch, curling up in the opposite corner to face him.

"I did. I've arranged for her to serve one year at county. We'll overlook her parole violation in exchange for pleading guilty to the shoplifting and remaining sober and well-behaved for the duration of her stay." She watched him intently, gauging his reaction.

Rusty visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Sharon," he breathed quietly. His arms dropped from their rigid grip around his knees, his entire body seeming to uncurl and lengthen.

"Of course, you are free to visit her if you would like, but first we need to talk about something related to that." Steeling herself for what was coming, Sharon took a deep breath before fixing him with her unwavering gaze. "Rusty, you should know that communications between inmates and visitors are closely monitored."

Rusty blinked in confusion. "What, like, you tape them?"

"Yes."

It seemed to take Rusty a few moments to process what she was getting at.

"Oh," he said after a pause. Then, comprehension dawning, "_oh.__"_

He glanced over at Sharon a little fearfully, opening his mouth to speak. But Sharon barreled on before he got in a word.

"For obvious reasons, Lieutenant Provenza and I will both be personally monitoring your mother's visits and any other communication. So bear that in mind." She smiled reassuringly at him, hoping to counteract that terrible almost fearful anguish in his eyes.

"Oh my God, Sharon. I really…I just really never meant for you to know about—I never wanted you to worry. God, I am causing, like, so much trouble, I—"

Sharon brought a finger to her lips, hushing him gently. He was working himself up over _her _well-being. It would have been sweet in any other situation. Now it was just tragic.

"Rusty. Don't worry about that. Does my knowing it was said at all change what happened?"

He avoided her gaze. "No," he whispered into his lap softly.

"Alright," she answered soothingly. "Now, Rusty. Are _you_ okay?"

He continued to avoid her gaze, hiding his face and staring into his lap. But Sharon saw his shoulders quake silently. As quietly as possible, Sharon swung her legs and feet back over the side of the sofa, sitting up and sliding silently toward Rusty, stopping a few inches from his place. With one hand, she tentatively reached over to touch his shoulder placatingly. He jumped a little at the touch, but didn't move away.

After a moment, his face finally rose to meet hers again. Lip quivering, tears rolling down his cheeks, he finally answered. "N-no. I am n-not okay, Sharon."

Her right hand, not occupied with his shoulder and back, gently moved up to cradle his face, her thumb rubbing his damp cheek slightly.

"Oh, Rusty," she breathed. Holding his face this way from their place on the couch, Sharon had a moment of deja vu. A flash of Rusty, broken and bloody from that penultimate encounter with Daniel Dunn. She knew that the worst kind of abuse wasn't purely physical. Experience taught her that the silent injuries hurt more acutely and lasted longer. The proof literally rested in her hand.

"Honey, I'm so sorry." Her hand moved from his cheek up to his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes unnecessarily.

To her surprise, he didn't duck away this time. Instead, he leaned in past her hand, hiding his face in the crook where her neck and shoulder met, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle. Completely unprepared for the sudden move, her arms hovered in the space above them awkwardly for a few seconds before slowly coming to rest on his upper back and shoulders. Stroking his hair and back soothingly, she rocked them ever-so-subtly from their place in the center of the couch. Rusty's silent sobs wracked her body as well, her own quiet tears eventually mingling with his on her blouse.

**So, I tried to weave in enough fluff there to keep you from getting suicidal, but there were some rough spots there in the second half. I really am sorry. You can forward the kleenex receipts, or if need be, the dried husks of your crushed souls to the review section or my Tumblr. Thank you for your business.**


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